The wanderers are walking
The path of unknown.
They're hoping for wishes and wishing for hope
Praying for miracles to help them cope.
But the wind is blowing,
And the rain is falling,
No miracles ever come
On this dark old desolate road.

Many have journeyed,
Few have survived
To tell the stories and the lies.
They all know this,
But still they go, wistfully thinking
That they will be the one.
So they silently steadily stay
Upon this dark old desolate road.

Why is it that everyone must go
To places that they can't?
To see the bitter beauty of the desolate
And the light of the dreary dark.
And upon the path of less traveled
Where people seldom return.
They all are fools but still they follow,
That dark old desolate road.