The streets are howlin’ with a ghostly call,
shadows whisper where the rain does fall.
A jukebox plays a tune so thin,
beneath the weight of a world caved in.
The moon’s a liar, the stars don’t care,
and the wind just moans like a broken prayer.

The preacher’s gone, the church is bare,
empty pews and a hollow air.
The bottle’s dry, the glass is cracked,
memories fade, but the pain stays stacked.
The clock ticks loud, but time stands still,
a frozen river, a bitter pill.

The carnival’s gone, but the clowns remain,
their painted smiles masking the pain.
The Ferris wheel creaks, the lights grow dim,
a circus of sorrow on a razor’s rim.
The crowd moves on, but the echoes stay,
a requiem hums for the price we pay.

The road is long, the night is deep,
the wolves are howlin’, the angels sleep.
A guitar strums in a dusty room,
a melody born from the edge of doom.
The fight goes on, though the hands are raw,
life’s a drunken brawl, with no final law.