Everything passes and everything stays
To pass while making a path
Nor to leave in men's memory
My song
I love the subtle worlds
I like to watch them paint themselves
With sun and crimson, to fly
Under the blue sky to tremble
Traveler, your footprints are the path and nothing more
Traveler, there's no path, the path is made by walking
By walking, the path is made, and when you look back
You see the track that will never be walked again
Traveler, there's no path, only wakes on the sea
Some time ago in that place
Where today the woods are dressed in thorns
You hear the voice of a poet shout
Traveler, there's no path, the path is made by walking
Blow by blow and verse by verse
The poet died far from home
Dust from a neighboring land covers him
As he left, they saw him cry
Traveler, there's no path, the path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
When the goldfinch can't sing
When the poet is a wanderer
When praying is no use to us
Traveler, there's no path, the path is made by walking
Blow by blow and verse by verse
And blow by blow, verse by verse
And blow by blow, verse by verse