The Road
Bryan John Appleby
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I hold my shoulder tight against the cold that rolls down the road tonight
Though I’ve left the fold, my feet will find a hold
Now I cannot stop
I will not turn around on the road tonight
Though I’ve left your side,
Still I will find, find a way
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The holy garment threads apart, the cloth of white is stained
The floor has bowed beneath the weight
The beams now bend and break
No longer can I call a home, the place I’ve known so well
But what may come upon the road, right now I cannot tell