Your path is bleak, and covered with weeds
Shrouded by the invading shadows of trees
You don't remember the start of the path, but you remember the times that passed
The trips, the falls, the few dead ends, with forks and hills and countless bends.
The journey has been though, the proof is on your shoes,
from the endless rocky path that was once so smooth.
You didn't ask to start this journey, yet here you walk,
no one asked you to start, no one bothered to talk.
Yet you continued to walk down this everlasting track, which is sometimes so bright, but sometimes so black.
What was your goal? What is it now?
Is it the same as before?
You need to find out.
But it doesn't matter now, the path is lost, covered by plants and crusted with frost.
Was it always this cold?
No.
So when did it start?
Perhaps the dark clouds above played a part.
Your feet are aching, can you tolerate much more?
Your legs creak and complain, so worn down and sore.
Your body feels it's weighed down, but by what?
Your mind feels like it's beginning to rot.
Will this pathway ever end? Do You want to wait that long?
Are sure this path is where you belong?
This path was presented before you without any choice,
You can't here anyone anymore, it's just your own voice.
Where did they all go? When did it all go wrong?
All you hear is the faint humm of a song.
In the distance, a tune, sung sweetly and clear.
Yet so eerily quiet, is it anywhere near?
It's leading you off the path, into the dark wood,
With your vision consumed by darkness, that's where you stood.
And here you'll stay, you can't find your way back,
So I guess in the end,
It really wasn't your track.
