Down from the ***** I saw the steps I thought Were, the steps To my calling. All that mattered Was, to believe.
When calendars Churned out unending numbers. And the process Repeating in cycles Of rippling rhythm, When The ripples flattened out, And the rhythm turned silent, Realization set in. It was blind faith all along, That belied convictions.
The first step of yore, Had become the last one now. And ahead once again, The ***** reveals itself, Winding down I not know whither, But I know this That am bound thither.