They say that a dive bar is the city’s version of a cemetery
For it houses the dead longer then our homes ever could
Staying long past last call, well into the night
Some say they love it here, I think they can’t leave.
Father Clover’s made a living from chaperoning the dying
Leading them from this world, to where they now reside
They follow him, as he leads them home
To this broken down building, on the lower east side.
Each night he stays longer, and they become closer
The men he never knew, now become his true friends
Little does he know, he’s becoming more and more like them
The more alive he feels, the closer he comes to the end.
They say everyone’s running from something or someone
This man’s no exception, he has blood on his hands
That he hopes never turns up in his after hours clubhouse
When he comes in fate will have other plans
But he’s yet to learn of the skeletons curse
The lesson that forced him to falter and roam
When you follow the dead away from your past
Your past comes and find’s you, and follows you home.
Now Clover’s in an abandoned bar with a gun to his head
Packed to the gills with men that no one else sees
Welcoming him to his personal funeral procession
To die like his followers, down on their knees
No one notices inside this desolate building
The carousel that holds our deepest fears
For he’s the only one that’s stepped inside this shit hole
This bar has been closed for thirteen years.
I’ve never understood why men run from their past
In the one place that houses the fruits of their pain
What I do know is don’t stay long past last call
For if you do, you’ll never be heard from again.