A dust arose from the walker's journey across the wasteland
It was a frozen desert, no water, no trees or despite the sun
The walker's cloak, flying like a flag, trailing behind in flow
Few seeing the walker understood his trek, thought him a fool
Exposed to the elements, a hostile land, so much to overcome
But the walker might now know why humans seek to escape
Our world is cold, dangerous, it smothers our lungs in dust
The path is constantly being lost, in mountains of clouds
And where will the walker find the path is terminus
