on the old forgotten crossways

where the fourteen rivers did meet

the bones of our elders 

lying in the street

on a dark and dusty deserts

like a ghost I've flown

I barely cried when I arrived

I never found a home



ooh, feel the strain of sorrow

never ceasing

ooh, feel the strain of sorrow

never ceasing



I am a ramshackler

go from town to town

and when there is no shelter

I lay down on the ground

I killed every reason

they gave for me to stay

cussed the morning,  burned the bone

and dragged that thing away



mmm, to the peace of sorrow

never ceasing

mmm, to the strain of sorrow

never ceasing



there's saints and there is animals

they've taken what they could

and it's written in the pages

do just like they should

they stood the test and burned the rest

and tore them limb from limb

and it's marked upon their faces

it's written on their skin



ooh, feel the strain of sorrow

never ceasing

mmm, feel the strain of sorrow

never ceasing