Journey 2002-11-28

Where am I going? said the blind man,
and from where have I come?
Your shoes are worn with dust and sand,
and still the road will run.

And whither then? the cripple asks,
My crutch has borne its last.
On until the church you've passed,
and to its backyard grass.

And then I rest? he wheezes now,
Upon the grassy hill?
Yea, for there you speak of how
your bed you would have filled.