---

I took the road I thought less traveled,
dimly lit its broken stone.
Atop its streets, the littered fragments,
of dreams of those who walk alone.
In brighter days the good intentions,
of which its cobblestones were made,
shined with an innocent abandon;
but a memory in its shade.

Can you hear Its ghosts? They're calling.

Purest of intentions
held together with such force,
still lack the fortitude within them
to steer the traveler from his course.
"Hell or High Water",
seems to read the last street sign.
Watch the light above it flicker
and, like it, vanish into time.

Can you hear Its ghosts? They're calling.
Under their spell I'm falling.

Hell is full of heroes.
Take a look inside.
Hell is full of heroes.
Come and stay a while.

Can you hear Its ghosts? They're calling.
I heard them say, "Just follow me,
and soon, these streets, you'll too be haunting."
For there's no escaping destiny.

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