How many roads have I wondered? 
None, and each my own 
Behind me the bridges have [bad word] 
No question of return 

Autumn leaves like discarded dreams 
trampled underneath a tide of careless feet 
it’s the same song playing 
everywhere I go 
it’s like an army marching right through me. 

Nowhere to go but the horizon 
where, then, will I call my home? 

Summer spent, in the high grass 
or just fragments, ransacked memories 
dark river snakes, across this murky hall 
boatman sings his downstream melodies. 

How many roads have I wondered? 
None, and each my own 
Behind me the bridges have [bad word] 
where, then, will I call my home?