Letras
A tired old figure shuffles along the wet cobblestone street
His tattered cloak doesn't hide him from the rain
His weathered face is aglow
By the oil and wick that burns
In the cold autumn night, his thin white hair blows in the wind
His leerie pole in his hands
His gray eyes reflect his memories
Night after night, he goes forth and lights the streets
He lives to give for nothing in return
Lighting lamps as the townsfolk sleep away
Working for the benefit of all
As carriages pass him
Working alone in the street
All the eyes of the people look away
Ignoring him and all the gifts he gave
He's well aware that the folks go on
Without giving him any thought
'Xcept the life he leads is merely a waste
He completes his task with all lamps lit
And leaves to the place he'll rest his head
Sickness descends on the land
Perishing his immunity
Takes away his weary hand
From his lamp and torch that light the streets
The next night with no lamps lit
The absence of His light strikes fear
The hand of black grasps the town
Now only darkness wanders the streets
Now His deeds are recognized
In the solemn world that craves His light
They would call for Him but they never knew His name
Will this blinded night ever end?
Or will this cursed shadow stay?
He returns the next night
To the peoples surprise
To give His gift of sight
We all disregarded before
Now we mustn't disregard no more
Now they see more than ever
With their love of His light