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Souls of the Night – Vol 3.

77.

Final song for Souls of The Night Vol.3 for Lex and Nathaniel:

Spotify or Youtube: Some Kind of Hero from Felix Hagan & the Family

"We're here," said Cyril, Alexander's private driver, who was on loan to us. This man was so well aware of everything that we didn't even have to raise the partition between the driver's cab and the rear seats. I groaned as the transformation through the patch went through me and everything hurt for a few seconds as I became human.

"Sometimes I really think nothing is impossible for you," I murmured as the car stopped in front of the First National Bank in Manhattan and I looked at the building through the opaque windows.

"The bank manager and Xanatos are thick as thieves- and he doesn't ask any questions when one of Xanatos' acquaintances wants access to old safe-deposit boxes," Nashville said. Where Tachi had already been human- a cute half-Japanese girl with hair so light that everyone assumed it was dyed- Nash now applied one of the patches.

I didn't know why I had preferred to have the two young ones with me for this mission. I thought Lex was right in his assumption that they saw me and I saw them more as peers. I loved Lex - I loved everyone in the clan in one way or another and every night a little more. But Nash and Tachi gave me a feeling of rough affection that gave me a level of comfort that I didn't experience with the others. Especially because I didn't know what to expect, I preferred to have them with me rather than one of the adults.

Nash trembled and groaned, curling up on the leather seats as I did when I transformed, and Tachi clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"If you would use the fucking patches more often, it wouldn't affect you so much," she said while she folded down and draped the fabric of my jacket so that one couldn't see that the garment was intended for someone with wings.

Nash sighed and now ran human hands over his black hair, pulling his hair band tighter on his head while he sat up straight. My jaw dropped.

He looked – he looked like – yes, like a half-Japanese guy. Tall with a narrower face but attractive in a foreign way. He looked good. Strange without his beak and with the human skin tone, but the almond-shaped eyes, the curve of his eyebrows, which he, as a gargoyle, of course didn't have. His nose! It was unmistakable who he reminded me of and I looked at Tachi in disbelief while Nashville spoke without paying attention to us because he was just re-tying his hair band.

"Someone, who has had to play a human for years without being able to use the anonymity of the patches knows how to appreciate being a gargoyle more than the rest of you. You know I'd rather be me, sister."

"I know," Tachi said and tapped my lips admonishingly with her claw just as I was about to comment on my earth-shattering realization. But Tachi's glare stopped me. Her shaking of the head was just a twitch. Another thing we would never talk about. Okay. Did Nash know? Was it just a coincidence? Did the magic in the band-aids do something like that- some cruel supernatural irony that only served to deepen Nashville's emotional wounds? Did Nash look like him, or... did he look like... Nashville? But that was impossible, of course. It WAS impossible. I almost fell forward as Nash patted me on the back while Tachi evaluated his shirt. Unaware of my inner turmoil, he grinned with a smile that also looked like him.

"Okay, Hercules, let's pop in there and see what goodies your uncle left you." He tapped my hand, which held the strap that had been in a shoebox in my possession for more than twenty years. A strap I had no memory of what the beads with the painted eyes on them were for or what the tiny key on it was for. Murshid's last gift to me, which he unconsciously erased from my mind with his last spell.

"With his luck, it'll be damn shares in companies connected to Lehman Brothers and Bernie Madoff," Tachi said.

I shuffled after them, my knees weak. The bank manager himself and his deputy received us. They were both too polite, almost happy to welcome us after nightfall, to be comfortable with it. Clearly the identity of the owner of the old lockers was a mystery that aroused interest. It confirmed what Tachi had said after a quick investigation. This was a key that opened several small and large safe-deposit boxes here. Boxes that had been locked for so long that the computer system didn't even have a record of what was inside. Too many computer system changes had wiped out the records. It was like sanding the same spot on a parquet floor over and over until the floor was barely salvageable. They had been paid for 50 years in advance and only a man named Murshid Tariq or a Nathaniel Sharif was authorized to access these lockers. Even my fingerprints had been put on file! Nash and Tachi were only allowed into the back private area of the bank with my explicit confirmation. This was crazy - everything here was crazy.

I faltered on the way to the basement where the said lockers were. I gasped for air and leaned against the wall. Tachi came to me, her human fingers on my arm alien. "Shall we... see what's inside?" Tachi asked, and I nodded hastily because a panic attack was rolling in and I couldn't - I couldn't rummage through the belly of this bank and the last possessions of Murshid, even if he had left them to me. I COULDN'T touch anything he had touched last, even if it had been decades ago. The newly awakened memories in my mind were just too fresh. It didn't matter if there were a million dollars or stock certificates worth nothing down there. I just couldn't. The assistant manager accompanied me outside, where I waited with the pleasantly silent Cyril in the car. After half an hour, Nash and Tachi slid back into the back seats. Both removed the patches but didn't say anything to me. Nash instructed Cyril to drive back to the Eyrie Building.

"WHAT? What was in the boxes?!" I shrilled. I was scared of what they had found and at the same time, the suspense was killing me.

Tachi cleared her throat, looking a little distraught. "First of all, the most important thing for you, which was probably in there, was this." She pulled out a spiral notebook that didn't look too old. I took it and opened the cover. I saw the dedication on the first page in legible handwriting. For my Djinn, my Prince of Thistles. Always be more than others think you are.

I slapped my hand over my mouth, fighting back the tears that stung behind my eyes and the whimpering in my throat. I took a deep breath, pressed the book Murshid had made for me to my chest. Later. Later, when I had time to break down.

"What else was in the lockers? Anything of value?"

For the first time, Nash broke his ominous silence. In favor of a sarcastic chuckle. He had transformed back into a gargoyle, and his grin was delightfully gruesome and familiar.

"Of value? Maybe the book will tell you how old your Murshid really was. If Demona, with the handicap of being a gargoyle, was able to accumulate quite a bit of loot in a thousand years, what do you think someone in human form could have hoarded in even more centuries?"

I looked at Nash blankly. He rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around me. "Let's put it this way... You were worried that Lex would be your sugar daddy ... Now you could be his. You're my new favorite uncle and if I ever need to mooch off someone, I'll come to you."

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With the flick of a single light switch, one lamp after another lit up the enormous area in front of them. Ares and Flora gasped. It was big, yes, but just one of many warehouses they would need.

Alexander and Xanatos' shoes echoed as they took a few steps into the hall, as did Alexander's voice.

"How big?"

"50,000 square meters. Scarcely less than that." Owen's steps didn't echo, nor did his voice. In the broadest sense, this was all for the "protection and well-being of the boy," so he allowed himself to let his mask slip a little. Show-off. "This week, the hired workers will come and install the UV lamps and irrigation systems. As soon as they're done, the plant pots, soil, and fertilizer can be brought in. All the contracts have already been signed.

"Fertilizer will be less necessary, all we need besides soil, water and light are the seeds. And I produce thousands of those every day," Flora said, linked arm in arm with Ares, looking around with interest even though there was nothing to see yet. After that, they would go to their first doctor's appointment – less out of concern than out of curiosity.

"And you don't have any problems with that, Flora?" Xanatos asked and the fey chuckled, pulling a thin branch out of her hair with dozens of seeds hanging from it as if it were nothing.

"Please don't worry. As humans say, I could do this in my sleep. I just need a little more light and nourishment and I'll produce new creations that will make Oberon or whoever tries to compete with us break out in a sweat."

Ares smiled uncertainly next to her, looking a little pale around the gills, as Xanatos noticed. Ordinary "people" could get quite lightheaded at the magnitude of their efforts – although it was not at all certain whether these precautions would really be needed.

"And the other warehouses?" the billionaire asked.

Owen scrolled on his phone while he listed them.

"Miami, Melbourne, Jacksonville, Charleston are already being converted. The landlords in Wilmington just sent the contracts. Norfolk is almost ready for planting. The same goes for the buildings near Philadelphia and all 14 storage facilities in New York State, since this is where the epicenter will be if something happens.

"What about Bermuda?"

"Fifty plants should be enough for there," Flora said, rubbing Ares' arm, who took a few deep breaths.

Owen nodded in agreement. "In Portland and Bar Harbor, everything is also being converted for our needs, and as requested, we have also secured storage facilities in Nova Scotia - just to be on the safe side, although I doubt that our opponents' operational radius will affect the entire east coast. This here is one of the largest, but overall, we should have about 1 million square meters of storage space and property available for the venture. Whereby I may remark - "

" - 'astronomical costs?' Xanatos asked with raised eyebrows and trademark smirk. Owen smirked back in his understated way.

Alexander stepped up to his mates and brushed a strand of hair out of Ares' suddenly damp face. He took something out of his pocket while he spoke: "We have to think about how we distribute the plants. Should we rely on humans for that? A hundred thousand robots would be more efficient, but even then they'd have to be able to beam back and forth like in Star Trek."

At that moment, Ares leaned forward and noisily threw up into the vomit bag that Alex had just held in front of his face. Flora and he simultaneously rubbed his back reassuringly and cooed calming trivialities while he choked and gasped for air, but when he straightened up again, he appeared much better.

Xanatos looked perplexed while Owen rolled his eyes and gave his Master Pupil a slightly unimpressed scowl.

"What was it? - Sun, water, fertile soil and a small seed?"

"Well, what can I say - pure magic," Alex quipped while Xanatos' penny dropped and he found himself looking forward with almost devilish anticipation to how his wife would react to such news.

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It was surreal how quickly the state could work all at once. Too surreal not to assume that Xanatos or Lexington or both had something to do with it. It had been almost four weeks since the night I had settled accounts with Jussuf Masoud. Jussuf's company had been closed after his 'mental' breakdown and a thorough audit by the authorities. Now an indictment for tax evasion would have landed on his desk - if he had had a desk. But in the mental hospital where he was being held, there were no desks for the patients. What's more, the money had disappeared into the nirvana of the darknet. I didn't want to know where it had really gone. I just assumed it benefited a good cause. I trusted Lex on that point. Just as I did with other things.

"Nate?" my boyfriend caught my attention while I was scrolling through Prime to decide what to watch. He still had his laptop open.

"Yes?"

"Here came an email."

I crooked one of my brow arches, not looking at him, but neither was I focused on the panels on the TV.

"Delete," I decided.

"Maybe-"

"Lex. Erase it. I don't want to see it." I huffed under my breath. I had shredded my old sim card. My e-mail account was the last virtual thing left of Nathaniel Sharif - the human. And not for long, either.

Lexington had offered to manage my accounts. It took a few days to erase Nathaniel Sharif from the infinite vastness of the Internet. To wipe out my memberships with online platforms and merchants, to cancel insurance policies, to transfer the money from my (pre-inheritance) bank accounts to the clan's accounts without this appearing strange to any clerks. But soon he would be finished. Finally, he would place the death notice of Nathaniel Sharif. It should be upsetting to carry myself to the grave - but I just felt lighter every night. There would be no inconsistencies in the records of the state, the coroner's office, the funeral home or the cemetery. The empty grave would even have a headstone. Just for the sake of form - not because I liked being buried like a Christian. It didn't interest me any more.

He would design me a new me. Nathaniel Wyvern. New member of the Manhattan clan - moved from another country, and with a backstory we had yet to make up. The thought of a new surname made me sad and euphoric at the same time. I knew it wouldn't erase my traumatic past. I would still be me with all my many shortcomings. But I wanted to look forward. Mrs. Xanatos-Fox-had gotten me a language teacher who would hammer the all-too-revealing Brooklyn Boy accent out of me until I spoke like Eliza Dolittle in My Fair Lady and everyone would think I was a Hungarian princess. I was done with my old life and was grateful to Lex for taking care of the last emails. But now, for the first time in this process, he looked at me like it was wrong.

"Lex- no matter what it is. You can delete it. I don't - want to be reminded of anything from this life."

"I understand that- but you might be interested in that last email. I'm sure it interests you." His gentle smile pulled me out of my chair and toward the computer.

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A week later, I met with my mother. After reading her email, it took me three nights to reply. And that response was just "OK". Plus a day, a time and this meeting place. My life - my terms. Either she took it or she left it. However, five minutes before the agreed time, I no longer felt as tough and confident as that sounded in my head. I felt like I had always felt in front of her. Like a pretty lousy son. Ignoring my own mother for three days. But she had ignored me much more often before. Still, I felt disgusting. It was the kind of guilt I never wanted to feel again - because it was unfounded! I was the one who had been alone for years. Neglected, scorned, harassed. Okay - I had scared my human family to death with my memories and the gargoyle bomb, and robbed them of their aspirations regarding Jussuf. But I had also saved them. I'd see if my mother would spit in my face for that.

She stepped into the castle courtyard on a remarkably warm early June evening that already smelled of rain even though the clouds were still far in the west. Burnett, who had escorted her up here from the lobby, politely excused himself. I watched from one of the battlements as my mother - Nathaniel Sharif's mother - looked around and then took a few steps through the landscaped area in the glow of the artificial outdoor lighting. Her gait was hesitant and she kept looking around. Was she expecting to be attacked by an entire gargoyle clan? That wasn't going to happen. Apart from Lex in his control room, from where he monitored the patrols of the others (and perhaps my meeting here), all the Gargoyles had flown out. My mother's insecurity both made me smile and stung. I took another deep breath, dropped from my vantage point, spread my wings and glided silently to her. She didn't notice me until I slowed down and she felt the gust of my wings at her back. I landed in typical gargoyle crouch.

She spun around, startled, and clasped her hands in front of her mouth. I stood up, straightened my shoulders and looked down at her blankly. Had she always been so small? Had she just seemed overpowering to me? Or had I grown?

"Hello," I said and only then did she put her hands down. Looked at me. And said "Hello" in the same way.

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes - I wanted to. Are you really-?"

"Yes - I am. "

Her question didn't hurt me even though, like everyone else that evening, she had seen how I had morphed. But it felt bitter to confirm it. It was a lie and the truth at the same time. A now quite large part of me no longer felt like her son. Maybe that part of me had never felt that way. Being her son had hurt for a long time. I was fed up with that kind of pain.

I noticed how pale she was around the nose and folded my wings into a cape. Her eyes followed my every move. Not hostile, though. Not resentful or fuming inwardly. Just observing. Waiting. Perhaps just a little shaken. She made it easier for me than it had been for decades. Easy to keep my back straight. Easy not to stutter. Easy to be chilly to her instead of her being chilly to me. Cold-but never cruel.

"Have a seat. Then we can talk." I pointed to a wooden bench next to us. She sat down on it without taking her eyes off the blue devil in front of her.

I folded my arms and tolerated her staring at me.

"How are the others," I asked, although I was afraid her answer might hurt again. But I was polite. If you have nothing else going for you, at least be polite. She had taught me that. She was probably following her own teachings, smiling faintly. But at least she did smile.

"They're all right. Well - they're managing. Baz has lost quite a bit of weight. He's ... the whole thing has really got to him."

"Yes - I can imagine."

"But his blood pressure is really good now...Hassan's not going to the mosque right now but he's applied to this art academy - we'll let him."

"Good. This art academy is called SVA - School of Visual Arts."

She looked up at me as if she was seeing me for the first time. Not because I was a gargoyle, but because I had corrected her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I was quite impressed with myself. I was terrified of this conversation, of this situation. But I wasn't paralyzed, I wasn't dumb and numb by this fear. It was tension - but tension that I could manage. Since when had I become so resilient?

She nodded and then lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap for the first time.

"I didn't know that. I should ... maybe find out if there are any scholarship programs for this school." she said quietly, so I was almost sure she was just voicing her thoughts. She wasn't pumping her gargoylified estranged son for support. She'd be far too proud for that. She probably considered the gargoyles who lived here at the castle to be beneficiaries of David Xanatos' wealth. Although that hasn't been the case for decades. But I wouldn't correct her either.

She knew nothing of the money Murshid had left me. I didn't even know how much it was because I was afraid to know exactly. But I assumed if Nash and Tachi (both grown up with a billionaire) called it "plenty" it was more than a Nathaniel Sharif (or a Nathaniel Wyvern) could spend in a lifetime.

I was quite amazed that she actually thought about enabling Hassan to do something like that. Something so ... pointless which might never make money but would cost a lot. Something that would only ... make him happy. Both the permission for Hassan to dream of a career as an artist and the question of how she could support him absolutely astounded me. With her job in a grocery store and the pocket money my father made as a janitor at the mosque, they wouldn't be able to make any leaps. And I knew there were no programs. Not ones that would help Hassan. I, on the other hand ... had more money than sense - literally.

"I think if he presents his portfolio there, he'll get into a support program," I said, knowing I was in touch with people who could make that happen. My mother nodded with her head down as if she didn't really believe there was a chance of that. Before the silence could grow too uncomfortable for both of us, I broke it with one word.

"Jasmine?"

My mother huffed and puffed out her cheeks as if she couldn't believe it.

"She moved the day before yesterday."

"She did?"

"To Paterson."

"Ne-New Jersey!? Oh, man. A long way to the Flatlands."

"The birds are leaving the nest," she said, and this time I quirked the corner of my mouth when she looked up and smiled wryly.

She tapped on the wood beside her. A little anxious. But she looked at me. At my new face. How much of the old Nathaniel did she see in it?

I hesitantly sat down on the bench too. As far away from her as possible. She looked at my tail, which was lying over the bench, hanging down in front and once again moving back and forth as if it had a life of its own.

"Only 50 miles away," she mumbled, "not even 40 if she takes the Grand Central Parkway."

"Still pretty far," I mused.

"She needed some distance. From everything."

" Can't say I blame her. For that."

"One of her friends lives there. The Islamic community is fairly large there too, I think she's looking."

"... for someone new?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"It can't get much worse than it was."

I raised my head and stared at her. And this woman, who had hardly been able to look at me for years, met my eyes gravely and spoke.

"If you killed him, I wouldn't mind. If he's not dead ... I hope he suffers to his miserable end."

Before I could say anything, she lowered her eyes again. And I now realized what it was that made her do it. Not the strange sight of me. But shame!

"I'm sorry. Nathaniel," she said quietly. And then shook her head.

"No apology can make up for what we did to you for years. What ... I did to you. It should be a mother's job to protect her child and stand on its side when the rest of the family, the rest of the community, the rest of the world does not. I am sorry. I've been thinking a lot in the last few weeks. I'm sure we all have. And there's no excuse for our behavior. We- were you... not a good family. ... People like your father and me... we are coming to this country. The land of unlimited possibilities and freedom. And then we realize that everything is not so easy after all. And the sorrow over our troubles and unfulfilled hopes leads to exactly what most of us didn't want. That we shape our lives according to traditions and values that are perhaps not always quite so liberating. Because we think we can hold on to them. In the face of a foreign world that is not well-disposed towards us. And what that means for our children, who have to grow up between these worlds - we don't want to acknowledge that. We were all so... blind to your suffering. To your isolation. And for what you had to go through with Jussuf all those years. You are ... who you are, but he is a real monster. In many ways." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She hadn't cried during her speech, but she was on the verge. Her voice sounded like it.

"You've opened our eyes to this. The seeing ones are rarely thanked by the blind. But it was the right thing to do. You were right. All along. You were and are a good brother and son. A much better son than Baz and I deserved. I am ... proud of you for taking it upon yourself ... to confront us. That was ... decent. And honourable. And brave."

I could feel the sobs rising in my throat. And coming out of my mouth. Now I put my hand over my mouth. I couldn't stop two tears from running down my face. She had no idea what those words meant to me. She might have a hunch. But she still had no idea. My mother was not a person who acknowledged her mistakes. I had never heard her apologize to anyone in my entire life - really, in my entire life. Not even to my father when she was really demonstrably wrong about something. And now she was apologizing to me. She was proud of me! I wanted to hate her so much and feel right about it, but I crumbled like a house of cards.

My mother leaned towards me and touched me. Brushed a dreadlock behind my ear. She pulled her hand away, puzzled, and rubbed her fingers together.

"This new skin feels weird - I know," I whispered in a choked voice, rubbing my eyes.

"Your skin doesn't feel strange. It feels unique," she said gently. "And I didn't pull my hand back because of that. I didn't notice when you were in our living room that your ear - how did that happen?"

I self-consciously grabbed the ear she had exposed. The frazzled one, of course.

"Would you believe me if I said it was shot off?" I asked, knowing my tone sounded like I meant it as a joke.

But my mother nodded sternly.

"That must have been scary. Good thing it was only the cartilage. And ... Stone sleep probably helped too."

I turned my head to her with a stunned expression before my emotions overwhelmed me. Once again I burst into tears and breathless hiccups. I knew I was falling back into the thought patterns of a small child. But ... I couldn't believe she was taking me seriously. Talking to me at eye level! That she believed ANYTHING I said.

She handed me a handkerchief like she used to do when I was a snotty-nosed kid. Me full of dreams - her full of great expectations for my life. And for the first time in a long time, I could see that she didn't expect anything. She no longer made any demands but would accept anything I was willing to provide.

I blew my nose loudly and she smirked at that.

"I always thought blue looked best on you," she said and touched my cheek tentatively. I let it happen.

"You also look healthier in blue than you used to."

"I feel good too. Very good."

"Then what changed you was the best thing. And ... you're going to stay like this?"

"Yes. This is what I am now. I'm not apologizing for it."

"No. You shouldn't either. Men - um, males? - should make their decisions with courage without constantly doubting afterwards. Even if it's a big decision."

"I have friends who help me." At first I wanted to say family. But I couldn't say it in front of her.

"The Manhattan clan?"

"Yes. And others. Every single one of them is amazing."

"And him?"

I grinned surely like a doofus. "He's marvelous. He's good to me."

"Does he love you?"

"Yes. And I love him," I said without hesitation and she continued to smile unbroken. She took a deep breath. As she exhaled, a weight seemed to fall from her shoulders that I had never realized had been there. Her voice was soft, thoughtful and caring as I had known it as a child. But also full of bewilderment.

"Lexington Wyvern ... Lex Eyrie ... people really are too brain-dead sometimes, aren't we?"

I couldn't stop myself from laughing at this. And heavens - it was unbelievable ... My mother laughed with me. We were both cautious. But ... not even in my craziest fever dreams could I have imagined laughing with my mother. Then again - in what dreams did I find love, acceptance, would have become a gargoyle and the host for supernatural beings of unknown power? But if all this wasn't real ... or the plot of some extremely maudlin god, then I still wouldn't have it any other way. And it got even weirder.

"You should come to dinner sometime. In a few weeks when I have your father so far."

"I don't know if- "

"It will be different. We will be different. I'll make sure of that."

I took a deep breath.

"I've made it my personal ambition to say when something bothers me. I'm not ready for that yet."

"I accept that."

She nodded, stood up, checked the fit of her hijab and pulled a Din-4 envelope out of her handbag. "This is from Hassan. He ... didn't dare write to you. He's ashamed that he didn't believe you - not even when it started to happen to him. But he really wanted me to give you this. The invitation to the Feast of Sacrifice stands. For you and your partner. No one will be forced to pray. There will be no criticism. Just food and drink. And it won't matter whether you both come with or without wings."

I laughed at that. Not at the top of my lungs, but the tears were back in my eyes. She wasn't ready to kiss this form of me like a son and I wasn't ready to be kissed like a son. But she stroked my cheek to say goodbye. And touched the horns on my chin as if they had always been a part of me.

She left and I stayed seated. With a shaky breath, I opened the flap of Hassan's envelope and pulled out the laminated sheet. It was ... one of his creations. I had known that he was good at drawing, that he worked with programs like Krita and Procreate. But this ... he had drawn me - obviously from memory. Me and Lex and all the adults in the Manhattan clan whose pictures were available on the Internet. All in dark combat uniforms. All on the edge of a roof. It looked like a comic book cover with the edgy gargoyles logo above. And I ... in the middle of it. Inhuman, blue-skinned, head raised proudly, wings towering behind me, a comic book likeness that was everything I wanted to be. Everything that Hassan had seen in me that night I had thought was the night I would leave these people behind. I looked like a hero on this work of art. We all looked like heroes.

A breathless stuttering whimper escaped me before all the dams broke. Fiery and Whisp swirled around inside of me, all upset themselves. I cried and didn't know what to do with these intense feelings.

I heard the unmistakable soft sound of his wings as Lexington glided down to me. I had learned to love that sound and would blindly pick it out from a thousand different wing beats. I felt him slip his hands between my wings to comfort me. And without looking up, I reached for him and pulled him onto my lap. He put his arms around my neck and stroked my head as I rocked back and forth with him. In the distance, rain was coming down from clouds illuminated by the city lights below, a low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. I didn't know what the future would bring. But I was home.

One last tinywiny chapter tomorrow - Thanks for reading, Q.T.

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Lyriks: Some Kind of Hero from Felix Hagan & the Family

Well there's a cold and lonely thundercloud
Bearing down on the city tonight
And my baby's going underground
Where there's no sign of light
And there's a chill wind scratching at the walls
And it's crawling up under the door
But our castle was made for cannonballs
So my darling, you must cry no more
'Cos if you love me I will dance in the firing line
Cackle at the storm each and every time
Catch a bullet in my heart I won't even mind
Because I'm some kind of hero
When demons pound at your door I'll chase them down
Scream hellfire at the top of my lungs
I'll turn my gaze to the storm and I'll face it down
With the power of a million suns
I'll light a fire in the dark and stoke it up
Into flames that will dazzle for miles
And when the storm burns out and you've woken up
We'll set out for the ocean in style
'Cos if you love me I will dance in the firing line
Cackle at the storm each and every time
Catch a bullet in my heart I won't even mind
Because I'm some kind of hero
But what kind of man
Would gamble your heart on the words of a song
That slips into silence when it's gone wrong?
Well baby it beats doing nothing at all.
'Cos if you love me I will dance in the firing line
Cackle at the storm each and every time
Catch a bullet in my heart I won't even mind
Because I'm some kind of hero