Morning dawned; the day was new,
and nothing barred the avenue
from where I woke to whence I drew;
and whence it was, I scarcely knew.
Whence it was, I scarcely knew.
But innocence did urge me on,
and I obeyed that siren’s song
to know not hate, to do no wrong.
This ledge is what it’s left me on.
This ledge is what it’s left me on.
For all your ranting, you don’t know:
you beg for a place where no one goes.
I tell you now, I know the road.
But no one follows where no one goes.
And so my labors bear no fruit;
I look with guilt on wasted youth.
I’ve gotten nowhere worth the queue
or I’d extend my hand to you.
I’d extend my hand to you.
The walk is long, the mountain high;
the view is hardly worth the climb.
I’d lead the way, but really, why?
You’ll not forgive the waste of time.
You’ll not forgive the waste of time.
For all these years of work and woe,
what do all my efforts show?
Torment answers, now I know:
I’ve reached the place where no one goes.
Every day, you’ve led me on.
Your every story, your every song,
exalts the very ground I’m on –
yet now I’m here, and you’re all gone.
Now I’m here, and you’re all gone.
From where I stand I see the sky,
yet rooted to the earth am I,
left with the choice, before I fly:
to urge you on, or wave goodbye?
Do I urge you on, or wave goodbye?
Once you’ve seen the lie exposed,
you reach the place where no one goes.
The purest love that no one knows,
hides here, where no one ever goes.
