Come the courier alone, the high road winds you loose,
Water smoothed the stones, but a weary figure stoops.
Still in the night, there’s a curse he must find.
Come the courier alone, and the flurry of suffering.
Past the low-sinking bridge, for the surging river spring.
Still in the night there’s a curse he must find.
A mark in stone, the highway home.
A mark in stone, the highway home.
Come the courier alone, for the vivid woods ablaze.
A wild fever forms the pinnacle of his gaze.
Still in the night, there’s a curse he must find.
A mark in stone, the highway home.
A mark in stone, the highway home.
Come the courier alone, for a courting moon, so bright.
Come the wayside crowd, the silhouette of grey and white.
Still in the night there’s a curse he must find.
A mark in stone, the highway home.
A mark in stone, the highway home.