Walking a thin line in the clouds
Coming down from the mountain
Ring of gold in my pocket
Masterpiece in a backpack
Silent tales of old, coming full circle all at once
Tables have turned
Nothing is heard
Hints of trails
Paths to the real world
Running on legs of steam
Wind in your soul
Lines to cross
Hills to climb
On the flip side
Followed the path to the center
Now those on the other side can feel the balanced power
Came alive in the shadows, one fine day, years ago