On the page they wrote our names in bold,
For we were the ones who broke the mold.
We lost ourselves in the trees and wind,
And found ourselves at many dead-ends.
But still we battled to find the truth,
As we waded through our fickle youth.
The answer was e’er three steps ahead,
And we had no place to rest our heads.
We journeyed many a mile and so
The things we thought we would never know
Became the things that we held too tight,
And so it ended in the night.
When they wrote our story, it was bold
For many a thing had taken hold;
In a day of dark and dust and swords,
It was risky to write down our words.
But they proved themselves to be quite brave
By making certain our tale was saved
In immortal press of pen and ink,
And ignoring what people might think.
We were lost, adrift, that much is true,
And sometimes when I am missing you,
I think back to when you were still here
And all the things that we once held dear.
And if they ne’er wrote our names in bold,
If we weren’t the ones to break the mold,
If ours was the story never told,
It would still be your hand that I’d hold.