Once again,
This hermit finds himself
upon yet another crossroad.
Carrying upon his back again..
yet another heavy load.

His heart is aching, oh his heart is torn..
Should he burn his old self down to ash
and find himself reborn?
Or should he see himself stagnate and wither?
Should he seek his love upon a distant coast?
Or carve it for himself
upon a more familiar vein of marble hither?
To be a man of action.. or a man of empty talking?
Is he content to live a life of humble walking?
Or should he spread his newfound wings and fly?

It seems that for the whole of him to keep on living..
Either ways, some part of him will have to die.
Some part of him will have to be the one
that, for the better of the whole,
must make this noble sacrifice..
Nothing less will ever suffice…

That’s why, upon a dark and moonless night
This hermit cries…
For, in his new self to believe..
An aspect of his old self once again he has to bury,
once again he has to grieve.