A cold and drunken sleep?
To be cast down the streets of despair where no matter
where you turn nobody cares.
I hope I never meet you there down that lonely path of misery.
Oh what does life have?
A wet and feverish bed, where all lie sick and dead.
I hope I never land there on that painful road to despair, but if I
do come visit me there.
Down that cold depressing lane, where you’ll always meet pure
pain and no matter what you do its always there and your body is forever
lingering in that cold, damp air of utter despair.