A day will come, young traveler,
When a noble king and his sickly queen
Seek your wisdom
And your guidance.
But you have none to give.

You are no hero, you are just a boy
With a satchel and a walking stick.
But you are beautiful and kind
So a hero you are dubbed
By a noble king and his sickly queen.

They dress you as a knight,
Drape their sigil on your back,
And the horse clops away.
You ride tall
Until you’re out of sight.

You are no hero, you are just a boy
With a horse and a sword.
But a crest blows behind you
So you become a hope
And the children learn your name.

How can you see what’s at your back
In the wilderness without a mirror?
Use your shield, young knight,
You’ll be stone before long
So draw your sword or face the dirt.

Your armor is much heavier than before
Or perhaps you are weaker
And your sword is aching and twitching
Against your side, writhing in its
New, painful sheen.

How can you sleep
Under the gods and the stars
When both have seen what you’ve done?
Both have heard the scream
And smelled the reek of iron on your breath.

No, you cannot face them
So you look down. You sell your horse
To a man on a farm.
You leave your armor
On the banks of a river.

For you are no hero, you are just a boy
With a satchel and a walking stick
And stains on your hands.
And the king and queen say you are lost
So they light a candle for you.

You are no hero, but you are no boy.
Your feet are weathered
And your eyes are warm with the sun.
You are not lost, young traveler,
You are exactly where you are.