My aching feet grow blistered
As the day slowly waxes old.
My throat is dry and parched
And I wither on towards dust.
My empty stomach howls rage
As my muscles lose their strength.
My future seems all too certain
And it strikes fear into my being.

Lonliness, my company;
Silence, my cold rations;
Regret, my all to imbibe;
And anger as my shelter
As I travel down this
Road paved smooth by
Countless previous feet.