MERCY 003 – Dead Interstate Gospel | The Mercy

(Verse 1) They found the roads by ash marks where the old signs burned, And followed broken lanes where no one had returned. The highways lay open through the cities of the dead, With Paled beside the exits where the final light had spread. (Verse 2) They hauled their fuel and children past the glass and bone, Through tolls of ruined steel and every silent phone. A preacher blessed the convoy from a bridge of blackened stone, And called each guarded mile a mercy not their own. (Chorus) On the dead interstate, the gospel rode in flame, Where every road-worn survivor learned another name. They sang for water, shelter, bullets, bread and grace, While the Paled kept watch along the empty place. (Verse 3) The burned-out cars were chapels where the frightened prayed, The service signs were crosses where the route marks stayed. They traded oil for passage under rifles in the rain, And learned that law was written by the hands that cleared the lane. (Verse 4) At night the engines thundered like a judgement choir, Past trailer homes and stations eaten down by fire. No map could promise safety where the dead fields rolled, So they trusted road keepers and the warnings they were told. (Chorus) On the dead interstate, the gospel rode in flame, Where every road-worn survivor learned another name. They sang for water, shelter, bullets, bread and grace, While the Paled kept watch along the empty place. (Bridge) They were not chosen pilgrims, they were hunger on the move, With every oath and shotgun giving proof they had to prove. Faith rode beside violence where the old world broke apart, And every mile of silence carved a road into the heart. (Outro) So still the convoys gather where the ash roads run, Past cities without answer under Mercy’s colourless sun. They carry names and warnings through the ruins and the rain, And preach the dead road gospel down the interstate again.