I walked through the forest of lies,
on my own, barefoot, and bare-skin,
like I didn't know what was where and when.
Picking up things I didn't understand,
like truffles of gold or relics in the sands.
I threw them away, I tossed them aside,
like they didn't belong to me beside.

Searching for a place that I could stand,
I walked for an age through every land,
through a river of deceit, and a wood of worry,
trying to find something that had been buried,
deep inside the treasure map of me,
but no matter I looked, I couldn't find the key.

So I packed up my things and I walked on,
like a wayward vagabond you made gone.
With each passing turn and changing season,
my back would ache and my stomach would shake,
so I knew the clock was getting ready to strike,
and I didn't need to be told to take a hike.

Something about free feels so alluring,
having no cares sounds so tempting,
but when you don't have a thing to stand for,
you find yourself searching evermore.