Avila

as far as the east is from the west
he'd throw my sins so he said
to all these things I should be dead
as far as the east is from the west

when am I coming home to see you
we keep on writing letters back and forth
and it feels like no avail

rain spread from east to west
american nothings parading their best
mud trudging life is baked to their feet
rain spread like a sheet

when am I coming home to see you
We keep on writing letters back and forth
and it feels like no avail