Far Punchdrunk Letras:
It wore him down; his head was hanging sideways,
his lids were slits. This happened almost nightly
now. He raised the gloves and waited for another
round. He waited for the bell to ring, he prayed
the lord would save his eyes. He heard church-folk
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swaying and sighing, "it's all right". He liked
his kids, he liked his sky-blue Valiant, he liked
the pay. "The boss' fine young talent" they all
would say. And just a pension later he'll be free,
do what he wants. Bereave the dream, now sleep,
now slowly die. (Lie l-lie, lie l-lie lie lie
l-lie)
Letras: Punchdrunk Far [final]