He was always the golden boy
A step ahead of the crowd
And stealing the thunder
Of those who rise from under

Rolling, rolling the clouds up
Rolling them back and storming below
Raining, raining and reigning
Idols of gold from above the skies
Here blows the man of the high hour
Whistling away to the funeral drums
He is the man with the golden gun
Dodging the bullets he shot at himself

He was always so close to us
But never understood from so far away
Flaunted his prowess and tended his ego
Bleeding on the floor from the day he was born

Now as legend fades to regret
I remember the look in his eyes
Never wanted anything more
Never got what he always had

He was always the golden boy
Rolling and stealing the thunder
Raining and pouring his soul