The Prayer

My mountain is a mole hill, my throne’s a busted chair
This crown has turned to rust and it’s all tangled in my hair
This high horse that I ride on is gonna buckle at the knee
Upon my castle made of sand I cannot be the king of me
There’s the man in white, his words are painted red
There’s power in his blood and only truth in what is said
There’s the man in black with a needle in his vein
Lying flat upon his back this is the prayer that he once prayed
He said, my mountain is a mole hill, my throne’s a busted chair
This crown has turned to rust and it’s all tangled in my hair
This high horse that I ride on is gonna buckle at the knee
Upon my castle made of sand I cannot be the king of me
And this harem in my heart is filled with pot metal and fools gold
Once your statue turns to dirt all that’s left in the end is your soul
God save your soul
So he said shout out of control with all your heart and soul
Though this cold world may tear you apart
Let the whole world know
My mountain is a mole hill, my throne’s a busted chair
This crown has turned to rust and it’s all tangled in my hair
This high horse that I ride on is gonna buckle at the knee
Upon my castle made of sand I cannot be the king of me
My mountain is a mole hill, my throne’s a busted chair
This crown has turned to rust and it’s all tangled in my hair
This high horse that I ride on is gonna buckle at the knee
Upon my castle made of sand I cannot be the king of me
Lord, I am just a man
I cannot be the king of me