What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it.

I started listening to the wolves and the timber, wolves and the timber at night…
I wake in the field with the cold and the lonesome—the moon’s the only face I see

So long, so high….

…considering the weight of the bricks I laid, now that I’m through..
One by one, sealed every crack that I could slip between to find my way back…
you can’t go back home once you’ve cast it away..
The heavy weight of promises made, if I could exonerate, I might just lift off today.
You can’t go back home once you’ve cast it away.