Sleeps departs but dark mist persist
with walking sticks and swollen feet
a bowl in hand,pennies in it
we want to know,who knows the way.
Golden feet on ivory Street
barns and yards in rural reefs
all have eyes of lame survey
behold, they ask who knows the way
Many footprints on sands has passed
day and night we travail on
a search unending,while nerves are bending
still we ask who knows the way.
Jesus is the way.