Turn sons and daughters into throw away cash.
Dry you all up quicker than your cigarette ash.
I am the raven who comes in the night.
I’m the son of the morning here to steal your light.
Oh son of the morning I will cut you down.
When you fall from grace all will hear the sound.
You who brought nations low now tremble in fear.
When ya hear my voice and know that I’m near.
Well what’s it like on top of that peak?
With all the slithering souls ya struggle to keep.
Would it be so bad if I got some that fame?
And every nation cried out my beautiful name.
I am constant no time for your tricks.
Seen your pride decay, turn well into sick.
What I made was good now deal with that.
Cause where your headed there’s no commin’ back.
On top of mount Zion’s peak.
On top of mount Zion’s peak.
Tyler Strittmatter 