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Somehow I find myself far out of line

from the ones I had drawn

Wasn't the best of paths, you could attest to that,

but I'm keeping on.

Would our paths cross if every great loss

had turned out our gain?

Would our paths cross if the pain it had cost us

was paid in vain?



There was no pot of gold, hardly a rainbow

lighting my way

But I will be true to the red, black and blues

that colored those days.



I owe my soul to each fork in the road,

each misleading sign.

'Cause even in solitude, no bitter attitude

can dissolve my sweetest find



Thanksgiving for every wrong move that made it right