I dont like the sound of
Glasses falling on the desk
I dont like the look on
Your very troubled face
But i dont sense salvation
And see no limit from afar
As shooting star it trembles
In the mystical wild

Highwaymans blues
You cannot refuse

I dont like the cold night
With chain of bolts
And rain in the hand
Moving to the mirror
That you find yourself for
Seeing nothing that values
In your mystical dorm

Highwaymans blues
You cannot refuse

I dont like the apeal
Of the mystical daze
The prohet is on trial
For surrendering a blade
His child it whispers
While on your woundend hand
And landlord doesnt have
Anything to land

Highwaymans blues
You cannot refuse