Here at the edge of the neighborhood
When you’ve walked out farther than you know you should
Where the tree-limbs beckon you into the wood
Where the forest meets the street.
Here at the edge of the neighborhood
There’s a voice that longs to be understood
And it might be bad, and it might be good
But its call is low and sweet.
Here at the edge of the neighborhood
Where you know you’d go if you only could
For it sings bewitching brotherhood
As it tugs your willing feet.
Here at the edge of the neighborhood
Where once upon a time you stood
There’s a wisp that glows where you left for good
And made the wood complete.