Rain embalms the rutted road Seven tracks become just six Bootheels sink in rotting loam The mire plays its little tricks Follow the trail Follow the flies TRAIL OF THE MISSING! The dead reeds point the way TRAIL OF THE MISSING! One more footprint fades away No grave will tell, no church bell rings The blackwater keeps everything A broken compass chokes on north Its needle points beneath the peat Leather packs hang from the boughs No owner answers from the reeds Boglights bloom beyond the trees A distant laugh disturbs the fen Count the tracks! Seven in! Count them back! But six remain! TRAIL OF THE MISSING! The dead reeds point the way TRAIL OF THE MISSING! Now our footprints fade away No grave will tell, no church bell rings Blackwater swallows everything
