We trace the lines on a frozen map, Where the wild creeks run and the timbers snap. While the world spins blind in its frantic haste, We are drawing truth from the quiet waste. The daylight narrows and the shadows lean, Revealing depths that are rarely seen. The planets turn in a grand design, And the fixed stars wait in a silent line. You search the skies for the shifting signs, Where the ancient and the earth aligns. The charts are drawn and the transits cross, To guard the gold from a sudden loss. In the quiet warmth at the end of the road, We decipher the myths and the hidden code. The Book of Erikah and Joe remains, Through the brutal frost and the icy rains. The witness stands at the heavy door, While the investigator seeks out more. A raven calls from the swaying pine, A living thread in the long timeline. When the fictions crack and the narratives break, We will save the stones that the rivers make. From the silver dust in the settling pan, To the deepest roots in the soul of man. So let the wind blow fierce and blind, We will leave the hollow noise behind. Keep the record clear, keep the anchor deep, Through the heavy hours when the valleys sleep. When the ground shifts under what we know, I am holding the pages for you and Joe.
