96 BPM brooding yet driving.

(Verse 1)
The sky is a chalkboard of peeling lead  
Weighing on the rooftops where the weary tread  
I sell my time to a demon, tired and gray  
While an angel falls, charred, along my way.  
The clouds are marching, a flock of ash  
With no destination, no light to dash  
The reins of a dawn that refuses to wake