Life in black and white so simple a time
Modern life is an epoch from sublime
The many things we have to endure
Cause many an anguish and this is for sure
Countless days all since gone by
A final resting place I might lie
The world filled with selflish shame
I swore I would not be the same
But suffer I have year in and year out
Luck is something always gone without
Despite good deeds been done for years
One is always reduced to forced back tears
THE SAINT THEY CALLED ALLNIGHTS 