By the end of the road,
when all things are gone,
you sum up the math called your life.
And you think of your loved ones,
the peaks of your time,
flashbacks and replays drift you by.
Live,
Mayher,
by the end of the road.
Live,
Mayher, by the end of the road.
The exit sign is shining in green from a door,
where St. Peter
is smiling his big beard.
And in the background there's laughter,
cool music,
jingling glasses.
Have I deserved to be let in?
Here by the end of the road,
I've dwelt for a while.
Make sure there's nothing in sight.
But who
says it was perfect?
You live and you learn.
Please forgive me if you can.