Millions of miles from home In the darkness before the dawn In the swirling of this storm When I'm rolling with the thunder But bleed from thorns Leave a light, a light on.
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Millions of miles from home In the darkness before the dawn In the swirling of this storm When I'm rolling with the thunder But bleed from thorns Leave a light, a light on.
When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind. — Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind