(Tradtional)

He walks alone in the forest,
Hands touching trees as he wanders.
And like the trees,
He is firmly rooted,
But he's trying to reach for the sky.
Quietly sorting things out.

Oh the night is falling like the boulder in hell,
That can not be coaxed any higher.
Now the dawn is breaking and I may be as well,
As I gaze at the circling wagons.

He sits alone in the meadow,
Reeds gently sway as he ponders.
And like the reeds,
He is one of many,
But he's hiding his will to aspire.
Quietly sorting things out.

Oh the night is falling like the boulder in hell,
That can not be coaxed any higher.
Now the dawn is breaking and I may be as well,
As I gaze at the circling wagons.