Well, I don't believe in happiness no more
Whether Isaac's four or thirty I'm not sure
Looking for a reason, ain't it a pity
Newsman say it's gonna rain in New-York City

I'm not bound for it, but it's a road I'll roam
It's a house I won't remember as a home
To a maze I head full-speed with no one left to guide
Flowers growing as I'm strolling countryside

Enter darkness through the threatening desert clouds
Answer something to the many questioning crowds
Go unfold the great enigma, that for centuries has been
weaved
There are million now vermillion maple leaves