Paroles de At Morning's Gate

Though a rich man's heir, or a pauper's son Underneath the cross we shall all be one When the days shall wane, and the season's growing late We'll stand at morning's gate At the potters wheel, in the sculptors hand We are being shaped for a better land Where the winters chill, is the summers warming sun and Life has just begun Through a veil of tears, we have run the course Thirsting for the well, of the purest source Not the bitter taste, of the ground in which we're laid For all have been re-made