There is a path by lake bras d'or

I never go there anymore

It's not the same, since you and I

The path is narrow, over-grown

The few that thread there, thread alone.

A patch of land, I call my own

I planted seeds, some have grown

But weeds have choked the few remains

My crop has withered in the sun

Doomed before it had begun.

I thought I read the writing on the wall

Turned out that it was just a bit of scrawl

I walked along, tasting my defeat

There was a time when what was writ

Seemed to me clear, and full of wit.

There is a path by lake bras d'or

I never go there anymore

It's not the same, since you and I

The path is narrow, over-grown

The few that thread there, thread alone.