Throw me the rope,
Demand of me more.
I promise to be pure
As the driven snow.
A bird's eye view; the crow's
Some many feet below;
Circling my shadow,
Circling my demise.
Something's got to go.
Please let it not be me
That falls the seven leagues
Onto the valley floor.
I'll be as good as gold;
Diamond studded morals,
Jewel encrusted moarings,
Gemstones at my call.
And i'll surrender.
Writer(s): Kenny Anderson
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