Crossroads

I'm standing where three highways meet. No sage to guide my wandering feet. The right road whispers soft and low. Come rest where gentle breezes blow. The left road climbs through thorns and stone. A pilgrim's path, steep and alone. Yet up there dwells what poets call The thing that makes a man stand tall. Straight ahead lies the muddy ground, Where truth and falsehood both are found. Each soul's a king without a crown, But kingdoms built on shifting sand fall down. Oh, crossroads, Crossroads. Where destiny and doubt collide. Lord, I wish I was an oak tree, Growing strong with roots spread wide. The evening wind begins to call. I wonder which road leads us all. For every path ends in the clay. So why should mortal hearts be afraid? But choose I must before the dawn, And live with choices when youth is gone. I'll know the worth of what I've done, When setting comes before the sun. Oh, crossroads, Crossroads. Where destiny and doubt collide. Lord, I wish I was an oak tree, Growing strong with roots spread wide.