Smoke, thistle and gnarled tree
The way we walk is one of three
The road up high, the one down low
And the middle part that most do go
Few did know and fewer now still
That all three ways have their fill
Of danger, joy, hope and hate
Only to tell once it's too late
What path it was they traveled on
When at the end they stand at dawn
At the gates of heaven
Or in the valley of death
All roads we take lead the same place
The only difference made
By the one who walks the path