Shall I trace back the roads I walked,

measuring right from wrong like lead weights on a scale?

No turn was wasted, no door wrongly opened,

for even the restless shadows stretched to guide me...

Yet, even mad shiny bright stars, so smooth in their course, were once dust, wandering...

Shall I count the steps that led me here,

as if the past were ink that stains the now? ...

Each footprint, each turn in the road,

was but the river carving its way to the sea.

No hands of clocks, no lines in silver sand,

no map drawn by trembling doubt

could bind the journey, always shifting, ever mine ...

not held by regret, nor caged by the longing

for what might have been

not

(Fade out)