Come the courier alone, the high road winds you loose, Water smoothed the stones, but a weary figure stoops. Still in the night, there's a curse he must find. Come the courier alone, and the flurry of suffering. Past the low-sinking bridge, for the surging river spring. Still in the night there's a curse he must find. A mark in stone, the highway home. A mark in stone, the highway home. Come the courier alone, for the vivid woods ablaze. A wild fever forms the pinnacle of his gaze. Still in the night, there's a curse he must find. A mark in stone, the highway home. A mark in stone, the highway home. Come the courier alone, for a courting moon, so bright. Come the wayside crowd, the silhouette of grey and white. Still in the night there's a curse he must find. A mark in stone, the highway home. A mark in stone, the highway home.