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Flung wide, the salutations
The deep curse and the shutters close
A spring house, in the making
On good earth
Of my many'd souls in my soul
And fears I don't know
I hear there's a march we should go

Lost on this road, are there any real Sundays to find?

Unbound, on the rising
The pell mell of the miser kings
As you saw what I'm seeing
Oh, you'd thaw from the fires
There's pace in your gait
And wake in your straights
I ache from the center out

Lost on this road, are there any real Sundays to find?
Lost on this road, are there any real souls?

Don't hear what I hear
Don't see what I see
Don't leave what I must leave behind

Lost on this road, are there any real Sundays to find?

This stop, I am hunger
The deep well of a stranger held
In this heart, a lonely hunter now

I'm lost on this road, are there any real Sundays to find?
I'm lost on this road, are there any real souls?
Are there any real souls to find?
Are there any real souls to find?

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