A QUEST OF MY OWN
North by west my lonely course
a half-heard drum from a distant source
beats as I stumble toward the goal.
There's no way to know what might have been
I wore the clothes that they dressed me in
cried tears of hate and of chagrin.
Shadows that send a wavering sign
dark on the soul and cold in the mind
doubt is the riddle and fear is the crime.
The thirst of a man is never quenched
till the need for indulgence is finally spent
and the narrow path can unbend the bent.
Hew out the word which must be told
lift up a flag neither bought nor sold
knock at the door where enter the bold
a quest of my own
a quest of my own.