Sometimes, other people hear your voice before you do.
Sometimes, other people see a light you don't.
And they tell you it shines from you.

And you don't believe them; how could you?
For you don't see that light.
But you've been looking.

But you've been looking in the wrong places.
Treading carefully along a path well-lit.
But no path worth walking is well-lit.

No path well-lit is worth walking.
The path that's for you is pitch-black.
And by walking it, you disappear.

Your road wants you naked.
By walking it, you unclothe.
And by getting to know the road, you are getting to know yourself.

And when the road knows you, and you don't know the road.
Jump.
Others have jumped before you.

And with every step, you are a little less you and a little more road.
And there will come a step when there is one last foot you and one fresh foot road.
And when you take that final step, you become the road. 

Your real work is the death of you.
A birth cloaked as death.
It’s sweet to die alive. 

That’s three letters we sing in one song.
But from your lips this time.
God