I walk a road that has high walls of fickle roses.
A path that widens only to thin up ahead.
Never consistent,
With smooth slabs one time
And rocky trails the next.
Every now and then a golden path will lead away
To join with another road.
There I see no high walls,
No threatening thorns.
Like lying on a lush moor in midsummer with a lover
It is easy and filled with green grasses.
It is calm and bathed with sun.
Every now and then I'll wrestle with myself
If I should take the path.
But the road I walk is needy.
And the road I walk is strong.
Or is it just my weakness that keeps me in these walls?
I trudge along
A long road winding.
I sing to lessen reality
As I know this road is wrong.
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