Letras:
Go Rydell The Golden Age

The road is winding down And the dirt from underneath my shoes Is leaving traces of The way I used to be And how there were times when the sun Choked

Walking through the streets with empty pockets and a cough to go along With a blurred point of view I?m passing churches on my left Along my path I find

I can taste the air and it?s obnoxious to my tongue Where?s the summer that I once knew? I want to feel like a new pair of shoes unscathed and not broken