[Verse 1] There are roads no map remembers, doors no living hand can close, where a thought outlasts its thinker and a long-dead garden grows. I have walked through empty houses, heard the laughter in the stone, found a life the world discarded still insisting it was known. [Pre-Chorus] Nothing passes without leaving some impression where it lay. Every fear and every kindness casts a shadow the other way. [Chorus] So I walk where memory wanders, where the lost are not quite gone, where a moment, once awakened, may outlive the coming dawn. Not a record, not an answer, not the truth made clean and whole— only echoes finding echoes, only feeling given soul. [Verse 2] On a field the grass remembers both the victor and the slain: one reflection sings of valor, one still trembles with the pain. In a palace stripped of banners, music gathers in the hall; someone waited by a doorway for a guest who never called. No historian kept her story, no inscription bears her name. Still the hope with which she waited left its fingerprint like flame. [Chorus] So I walk where memory wanders, where the lost are not quite gone, where a moment, once awakened, may outlive the coming dawn. Not a record, not an answer, not the truth made clean and whole— only echoes finding echoes, only feeling given soul. [Verse 3] There are spirits drawn to sorrow, others bright with sudden joy, shaping what they find before them as a child reshapes a toy. Ask them what a battle looked like, they may show you someone's fear; ask them who was just or guilty, and the answer disappears. That is why I keep returning: not for certainty or proof, but to watch a thousand fragments cast their light against the truth. [Bridge] Sometimes deeper in the dreaming, past the places mortals tread, I can feel the world grow thinner between the living and the dead. Colors gather without naming, distant voices intertwine, every echo finds another, every ancient note aligns. Once, such music needed no doorway, no dreaming mind to let it through— but some memories are better left to silence than made true. [Final Chorus] Still I walk where memory wanders, where the lost are never gone, where the smallest life may linger long after kingdoms carry on. Let the waking world keep monuments, let its histories extol— I will walk among the echoes, where the forgotten still are whole. [Outro] There are roads no map remembers. I have never reached their end. And somewhere past the edge of waking, something new begins again.
