Four and twenty years ago, I come 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.
A 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?
Morning comes 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.