The lonely path I have known,
No comfort sought,
No compassion,
Scorned pity.
O'er the darkened hill,
Patches of darker blood,
To this pen they are drawn,
My heart controls my hand,
Absence of mind.
The draining bond.
Great mountains remember me,
I wound around you for miles,
After where the sycamore grows,
I sat down right there and stretched my bones.
Listening to the wind, lo the whispering flows.
I'm still searching for myself,
I lost I on the morn of darkest day,
Worries about the morrow.
Searching for something to strangle the sorrows,
That something for myself,
To chase away the shadows
                                                   -**Firefly