The words of my past stand deleted or archived away. They had it coming.
After breaking, once more, the chains of my own doing, leaving behind the latest haven,
I noticed the highway had grown mighty dark, the thunderstorm roaring ever louder.
There, what of words too weak for even myself to hear?
Stepping forward, uneasily, in the unforgiving rain of ice,
it was plain to see, somewhere along the way,
I had walked out of my maps.