A place unknown, to return again,
A criminal racked with guilt.
Shrouded in the light of sin,
His conscious stained with filth.

He wraps himself in linen hold,
He steals a loaf of bread.
The owner of the cloths gone cold,
And the baker's all but dead.

No cheating, nor chasing, nor any rigged racing
Can help a man's soul feel complete.
His feet may rest, but his mind still pacing
He ducks to an alley from street

He's had his fill of bread, but the outside worlds lacks depth
He finds a place to rest his head, decides to catch his breath