I want to go
To an open road
-A road that knows no bounds;
To find a bar that's been long dead,
Where The Wind has its only sounds.

So that I may drink of the only wine,
That travellers dare not reach;
Where the taste is so fine
Upon death's decline,
That my lips, it cannot breach.

Where the cold air tongue
Whips through its walls,
With only History's cross to bear,
I take up the saddle
From the rail outside
And saddle up
To the Old-Bones, there.

I might graze for hunger,
I might stop for pain;
The wretched past
Of lives long-last,
Whistle through my sinewed veins.

As I journey forth unto
This great canyon-grave,
Where old howlers'
Ribs be shorn;
By torrential storms
Inside their own enclave.

As part of dust we settle,
And to dust we return;
From all of those times in Life (we hope),
Were times we would have learned.

Ne'er shall it be an easy time,
For anyone to traverse;
The greater strength upon this night,
Is the Love for the Universe.

And when that Love has gone and left
Down along this dusty road,
It's right back to The Skies I'll go...

And re-open That Old Fold.