It's late out,
Michael Trent and Carry Ann Hearst are spinning me a tale,
Of which they constructed around the end,
Of two Musicians,
Crossing paths many a time on the road of life,
To only find out their paths soon merge.

Now ain't that interesting?
To think of those we meet at crossroads,
Only to find out soon enough they are the ones you come to rely on most.

Crossroads,
So many crossroads,
To weave a pattern much like a tapestry,
Where do your crossroads lead?

Neil Young is on now,
A song written in a time that he was homesick,
In lands far away,
Even though he had no home to go back to.

A place where it's lush and green.

There's a Russian word for an ache like that,
It's called tocka,
A great longing and anguish,
With nothing to long for.