Four and twenty years ago, [bad word] into this life,
the son of a woman and a man who lived in strife.
He was tired of bein' poor,
and he wasn't into sellin' door to door,
and he worked like the devil to be more.
(intro)
different kind of poverty now upsets me so;
night after sleepless night, I walk the floor and I want to know,
why am I so alone?
Where is my woman, can I bring her home?
Have I driven her away? Is she gone?
(intro) [bad word] the sunrise and I'm driven to my bed.
I see it is empty and there's devils in my head.
I embrace the many-colored beast.
I grow weary of the torment can there be no peace?
And I find myself just wishing that my life would simply cease.