It’s been hours! It’s getting dark!
I’m getting cold! I’m getting lost!
I’ll find my way out, I’ll find a way out, I swear!
But who best to get me out?
But the wanderer, myself!
The wander, myself!
The wanderer, myself!
‘Cause the road won’t listen like it used to!
The sun can’t shine through these trees!
I am lost. I am broken.
I can’t do this on my own.
This is where I draw the line.
Just then the fog cleared,
The road quit its familiar twists and turns,
And shelter found the vagabond.
Cradled by his newfound security,
He closed his eyes for the last time,
Since he opened his eyes, for the first time.