The myriad choices of his fateSet themselves out upon a plateFor him to chooseWhat had he to lose
You know you've done enoughWhen every bone is sore,You know you've prayed enoughWhen you don't ask any more,You know you're coming to some kind of understandingWhen every dream you've dreamed has passedAnd your still standing.
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You know you've done enoughWhen every bone is sore,You know you've prayed enoughWhen you don't ask any more,You know you're coming to some kind of understandingWhen every dream you've dreamed has passedAnd your still standing.
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I heard the voice of that bird, son of Polypas, whose piercing outcryand whose arrival announces to men the season when fieldsare plowed, and the voice of her broke the heart that darkens within me,since other men posess my flourishing acres now,and not for me are the mules dragging the plow through the grainland,since I have given my heart to the restless seafarer's life.
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