I've spent winter indoors while I worked outdoors When spring comes you're a no name We all walk in our own shame Sonic echoes go on for not long, but luminant echoes go on for eons Where I roam is made of but not set in stone Even if it were, that illuding solidity will soon too disperse Where I roam is not my home Able to know where each road goes, but not the infinite in the coincidence each inch of it holds Able to see where every branch leads, but not the infinite in the arrangement of the cells in each leaf I spent winter indoors while I worked outdoors Winter comes with no names They all walk in their own shame