The Road

There's the road, up over yonder aside the lonely oak.
Gray clouds pour tears.
I've been avoiding this road for many long years.
I've seen the tree and turned back many-a-time.
Life's never been fine,
I've never took what's mine.
I've met the Lord and He burned no bush and never spoke.

I make a fire every night, to keep away the dead.
Of all the stars above,
there's none so more I love
than the one that's shown as bright as a full moon a-light.
The fire sets the animals afright,
and so keeps me safe at night.
I must keep away from that road, or they'd have my head.

I've been to the end of the world and I've been to the edge of the map.
I've seen what goes on
when the living are dead and gone.
It's not what they say and do that makes me angry so.
It's that they never go
and share what they know.
They'll never get me, I can't fall for their trap.

I wake up in the morning, and see that big red dawn.
Through the black window
you can see what they know.
And although you may think you can see with your eyes,
you can only see what dies
with what senses your heart denies.
If you have no direction home, don't look back; I'm not there. I'm gone.

I see the road, up yonder by the lonely hill.
I've come from the ther side,
and I've been denied.
Many-a-road seem easy or beaten, the one not taken might be left that way,
for of the many down-trodden, they
chose the one for it does not shorten their way,
and no matter what goes on, I shall always retain my Will.