You know, the places that I’ve been
The faces mine offends
Fumbling, fumbling
Though, with murky miles ahead
The fates sing softer, they’re
Humming
Slow, though hurried in the dark
I hear them calling when it starts
"Go, they’ll find you in the glen
The horsemen closing in
Rumbling
Row, though wilder blows the wind"
Into the river raging white, I’ll start again
"Sleep, while you cut your teeth
Whisky priest
Hope, take it slow
Through the habit’s prey, through the whisky’s weigh
You’ll learn to grow
Hold, hold, hold...