Blackout

The year was '67, the last we raised it up
Years come and go, still nothing to show in these cold, cold hands
We blame Barilko's body on a decade drought
But what buried bones do we have to bring home
For another chance?
It’s a blackout, but we follow along
We keep chasing the puck
Ever whispering “Someday we’ll drink from the cup”
We crept out from the gardens
Into the neon glow
A pauper’s chair to an emperor's throne still without a crown
Did we leave the blood stains, the crack of ice to bone?
As the winter melted away our thirst for glory drowned
When the final score is settled and the final roar decays
Did we throw our sticks in the fire or did we have our day?