Early morning, dreary horizon
 Aching hands are pulling a millstone
 Wailing from the cart
 Moaning from a shattered heart

 He’s burnt down many a bridge
 And he’s scared of walking in the dark
 It hurts when the rain falls on his skin

 Oh he is worn out from marching
 And he’s forgotten for what he’s searching
 Yet he keeps up the stride
 God knows that he won’t arrive