The road keeps on winding, with billboards in the sky, Voices in the market, all selling the same lie.
I carry my questions like stones in my hand, Searching for the true self in a shadow-worn land.
The neon lights are burning, they call me to the show, Promising the riches of things I’ll never know.
But every coin I gather just slips through my veins, Like rivers of desire running circles in chains.
I want to do right, I want to do well, But the hunger inside is a prisoned hotel.
Every room I wander has a mirror on the wall, It shows me my reflection, but it don’t show me at all.
So I’ll climb up the mountain where the silence is real, Strip away the layers, let the spirit heal.
For the world is a whisper, and the heart is the drum, And the path to self-knowing is the hardest one.
Push past the hunger, the clutter, the cries, Push past the longing for glittering skies.
There’s a light in the marrow, a fire in the bone, That sings of becoming, of finally going home.
