I take the road less traveled;
Less trodden, so to say-
This road that is less traveled by
Is something of great decay.
It's unkempt, dirty, a dreadful mess,
But does it scare me? No-
I see beauty in the tangled tresses
Of the weeping willow-Oh! How I love it so.
I take pleasure from the dark, dead leaves
That scatter themselves 'cross the ground,
For these leaves, scattering from the trees,
Sing a song that's hard to be found.
I choose this path to clear my head-
This is my thinking place;
Here, where all the dead leaves've been shed-
When I walk, I've a slow, glorious pace.
Many find this place perturbing
In its shoddy, perverted state-
It's the exact opposite of disturbing-
Here, I forget feelings of remorse, feelings of hate.
This is my hiding place,
My refuge when I'm weak-
Here I am safe, here I'm out of life's race,
Here is where I can let my true emotions leak.