Old man sits, with a gla** in his hand
Hears the wind playing tunes of some band
Hazy eyes, clouds of smoke in his lungs
Reaching out for his last lonely song
On this earth Crow flies on a straight perfect line
Like the voice of the souls left behind
St. Paul's orders: "The sinners must pay"
What the lord gives, he then takes it away
On this earth Night, bed of nails
Wine, never fails
Fast, words you say
Had enough, pills today Tired, of yourself
White, eyes and hair
Slow, words you say
Had enough, pills today Been
Awake
Long time ago
Drinking
Hard
And getting stoned In
The tomb
You're calling home
Old
Man
You'll die alone