Bent Reputation

The Moon's on the rise like a carnival ride, but it's faulty design has it slowly breaking I'd open my eyes but the world leaves me blind so I hide in your arms while I'm shaking The tree's leaves are falling, a long winters calling. The years seem to fly by as I'm sighing Time ticks on by never quite on my side; I wonder, am I a child or an old man dying? These angels on my shoulders only serve to weigh me down One day there wings might lift me, and then I'll hand over my crown I've got a bent reputation, and it's no speculation about these failed expectations that I'm meeting I've got a scarlet lover and an old grey haired mother; but the wolves and the crows are never fleeting There's a burden on my back now, that pushes my face into the ground One day I might break under it's weight, and then I'll hand over my crown