on the old forgotten crossways where the fourteen rivers did meet the bones of our elders lying in the street on a dark and dusty deserts like a ghost I've flown I barely cried when I arrived I never found a home ooh, feel the strain of sorrow never ceasing ooh, feel the strain of sorrow never ceasing I am a ramshackler go from town to town and when there is no shelter I lay down on the ground I killed every reason they gave for me to stay cussed the morning, burned the bone and dragged that thing away mmm, to the peace of sorrow never ceasing mmm, to the strain of sorrow never ceasing there's saints and there is animals they've taken what they could and it's written in the pages do just like they should they stood the test and burned the rest and tore them limb from limb and it's marked upon their faces it's written on their skin ooh, feel the strain of sorrow never ceasing mmm, feel the strain of sorrow never ceasing
https://primoaccordo.net/beck/feel-the-strain-of-sorrow-never-ceasing.htm