Into the mist, through the trees, walking barefoot,
Leaves beneath my cold feet, leaves of brown and green.
The sun does not shine as the fog creeps across the land,
Making its way through these lonely woods deep in nowhere.
What is alive as the morning awakes to a quiet day, this day,
So old are these woods, what tales they may tell of yesterday.
Ghosts of the past, people whom once were, they who lived here,
Quietly lonely as I think and dream, just quietly lonely.