They say misfortune comes in threes, the apple orchard burns.
And with it go my hopes and dreams, forgotten lies return.
But you'll be there through thick and thin, to see me to the end.
The dark of night is always worse before sunrise, begins.
Opal oak. on the edge, on the edge, of heaven.
Opal oak. on the edge, on the edge, of heaven.
And so we cut the silken thread,
the spider's coiling web.
How delicate the lives we knit the
ties of hope once had.
Opal oak. on the edge, on the edge, of heaven.
Opal oak. on the edge, on the edge, of heaven.