[Verse 1] Mirage on the highway, lantern in noon, maps made of rumors, compass of moons. Traders of maybe, tents full of news— I buy one moment I’m brave enough to use. Saddlebags heavy with doors that could be, some sing of plenty, some whisper “not me.” I empty the pockets of could and should— there’s sand in my throat where a yes would. [Pre-Chorus] The dunes don’t argue, they move; the sun doesn’t promise, it proves. [Chorus] The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose. Don’t court every hallway, step through. The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose. One road turns to singing when it’s used. The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose— choose, choose… [Post-Chorus Chop] my time is not—choose, my time is not—choose… [Verse 2] A merchant of crossroads rolls out his wares— a thousand beginnings, a thousand repairs. He smiles like weather and points to the brink: “Drink from the future or drown in the think.” I barter a secret, a fear and a vow, for one small door that is open now. I wear it like water, I wear it like truth— the road is a throat that needs your proof. [Pre-Chorus] The wind won’t carry what stands; the horizon pays only the hands. [Chorus] The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose. Don’t court every hallway, step through. The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose. One road turns to singing when it’s used. The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose— choose, choose… [Bridge] (3/4 sway → 4/4 lift) Count your doors—then lose the rest, call one north and make it blessed. Kiss the maybe, let it go, tie your courage to the toe. I am not the market’s noise— I am where a choice becomes a voice. [Drop / Hand-Drum Break] (frame drum and claps; oud run answers; wide pad opens) [Chorus – Lift] The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose. Dust blooms gold where your heel cuts through. The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose. Name this door alive and walk it true. The caravan is endless—my time is not—choose— choose, choose… [Post-Chorus Chop – Extended] my time is not—choose, my time is not—choose… (2-part harmony) [Outro] Footsteps fading, canteen light, one small yes becomes a night. Markets close; the stars refuse— the sky keeps moving. So do you. (pads breathe; footsteps trail into wind)
