Constant of this road,
is Getting off the track.



I know how long
Jesus hanging on the wall.
I know how loud
is braeking down the pall.
I know how high
is conscious of the stone.

The constant of this road
Is crossing all the souls.
the path is going to the impasse.
I heared the stranger slaming up the door

He never wash his hands
And scatter sand on the flour.


I know how long
Jesus hanging on the wall.
I know how loud
is braeking down the pall.
I know how high
is conscious of the stone.



Constant of this road,
is Getting off the track.


I loose my conscious
Geting stoned,
I feel I found it,
Turning back to road.