Will I run?
Will I call?
Will I come home?
Where will I roam?
When the clock strikes one,
And the morning fog,
Fills the valley's thorns,
Where blackbirds roam.
And the mountains call,
To that golden sun,
Where will I run?
Where will I roam?
Won't you come along?
Won't you fill your lungs?
With the smoke of your
Beloved childhood songs.
Were you born too late?
Who did you want to be?
In a thunderstorm.
On an iron floor.
So will I run?
Will I call?
Will I come home?
Where will I roam?
So will I talk?
To a god I know?
To a relic of love,
That I never know'd.
So will I run?
To a yonder shore?
To a yonder shore?
That I know no more.