See the dark tower standing there
in a field of roses, anywhere.
There's the crismon king, locked in his cell,
'cause he had unchaineted hell.

Now see Roland, no smile on his lips,
the revolvers of his father on his hips.
The last gunslinger, in my dream,
he's marching along the path of the beam.

And when he reaches the tower
the roses will open a way at the hour
of dusk and he'll enter
and climb high in endworlds center.

Nineteen steps to every room.
Each of them only keeps doom.
And every room another part
of his life, kept in his heart.

When he'll open the last door
he'll notice that he had done it before.
How many times he will lose
his friends, his love again? He can't choose.

The man in black fled across the desert and
the gunslinger followed.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 24.09.2008

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