Running Right کے بول

Cold is the wind of my last words, Blown from the lips of a runaway Trite is the weight of a farewell' I've fallen through the looking glass again I'm far from, I'm far from home Leaning on the gale of the storm I'm facing, I'm facing fire Fleeing from the pains of running right Sad are the sorrows of the proud The words to their own ruin ringing out Rough is the road of my return Traveled at the length of some year's end