When the waves have started to crumble
And the mountains smooth and die
Take me where the road is humble
Where the oldest men have died.
And I'll lay and make my bed there
Midst the beat and treaded roads
Midst the memories of the dead there
Stronger now and lonesome cold.
For I ask for not a second
With a comfort in my chest
Instead one million years of wandering
Till I reach my final rest.
And I'll lay and make my bed there
Midst the beat and treaded roads
Midst the memories of the dead there
Stronger now and lonesome cold.
Every kid must ask the question
"Why do all our heroes die?
Did they live to wake in the morning
Or live to sing under golden skies?"