The road bleeds from the ragged mountains A winding, endless path of black blood With blistered feet and arching back, A lone figure in the murky twilight Has followed the twisted, crumbling track Too many long days and nights
Crimson veined eyes seek the golden lamplight The yearning compels his stumbling footsteps The long remembered face, so deeply adored, Appears now from the mist as a ghost, Haunted Tears like silver on the sallow skin Pallid, bony fingers clutch the tattered cape to his breast
As brightly burning flame, the word is spread Passed from keen lips of kith and kin, Eager children tug the strangers arm And plead for tastes of the vast, unknown world The prodigal son withdraws fron then his arms, Shelters his soul beneath the ragged cloak Speaks not a word of the great, dead world
Sanctuary, warming his bones beside the fire And with hot broth to quicken his blood To quiet the trembling in his limbs, And thaw the raw chill from his flesh A girl once loved, now a woman, dares ask Of the world beyond the mountains And in the dark, deathly, silent stare, she learns That the prodigal son has not returnedTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
