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Seaforth MacKenzie rode his bike into the night
He found himself a man among the trees
Trading the warmth of day to search for something more
Under the moon beneath the leaves

Are we moving anywhere at all?
Cradled by the comfort in the cold floor
And the open road that stretches
By the wayside fire

Wayfaring strangers gave the safety of a bed
To find their rest upon the breeze
They put their trust in he who opened up the door
Found home wherever they may be

Are we moving anywhere at all?
Cradled by the comfort in the cold floor
And the open road that stretches
By the wayside fire

Seaforth MacKenzie rode his bike into the night
He found himself a man among the trees

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