Dead End Road, He Walked

Road going up hill under our feet

Following six men, he see a coffin on their shoulders

The first of the long row in this tiresome afternoon

From the pulpit a few voice, one by one they come up

Through older pages, distressed painting on every wall, behind every bench

Growing numb of nobody, things are still worsening

After mass he takes hundred of coundolice's kiss

Road to cemetery he walks in a little rainy day of cold

Where is the grave to put down soil? where is the map of this sad place?

He is carrying dreary afternoon under his arms

Marches to sacred field are beginnings

He's remembering days gone by almost evening time, 2 hours counted in half life

The bigger pilgrim was closed in the bathroom

Thinking how to go there as barefoot penitent

He wanna eat a white disk...

His sudden impulse of faith never tested before

Growing numb of nobody things are still worsening

Tomorrow sufferings are over. where we are... where we are...