For naught of way, I want no eyes,
I stumble at a glance of truth.
Our means are what make us
and our mere defects reflect,
who it is that can tell me who I am?
Pray I tell, I must meet this man!
All said and done, we must endure,
hence with the wind, jest their is truth'
no good, or bad, unless you think it!
So hang your hat, and break from your road.
We're all lost in the end, we yearn for a home.