------------------------------------------------ on the road my feet grow heavy, as an autumn dew on grass; and not without a heavy price, will another measure pass. so a path now I must seek, before my heart, as well, grows weak; for a dreamer cannot give up what the learned never has. down my rocky path I stumble, carved of vacant sea of trees; and the only place to walk, I'm sure, is there in front of me. but within just several moments, this path as I have known it, becomes endless as the passion, of a prayer on bended knees. should I take to finding shelter, or should the awsome trees I fear: could I whisper, 'carry onward,' or is evening, haunted, near? will I never come to realize, there is something more in here beside the faceless echoed tauntings from the shadows that I hear. for the night I'll take a slumber in a warmth in my own woods; I have never felt the comfort of what I never thought I could. and I will dream, my soul alive, until the morning sun arrives; then I'll carry on this memory, if my conscience thought I should. and when the tide returns, I will follow those same tracks; I will find the hardened road, that such, before I could not hack. they will ask me where I've been, when I'm with them once again; but I'll muse, 'I took a wrong turn, and I'm just now getting back.' ------------------------------------------------Birth sign: Not entered
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