Sailed too far, chased the sun,
Marked a path, but lost, undone.
The map frays, ink runs thin,
Where to go when the world can’t end?
Compass spins, stars mute,
Endless roads beneath our boots.
Every landmark, every stone,
None can take us home.
Wayfinder, take us back,
Through dust, through black.
Beyond the edges we roam,
Wayfinder bring us home.
Map Makers’ table, ink-stained hands,
Tracing lines across the land.
Lodestone hums, whispers our name,
Still lost with none to blame.
Buried treasures, paths untold,
None of them can break the cold.
Paper fades, the torches die,
Still we chase the horizon’s lie.
Wayfinder, take us back,
Through dust, through black.
Beyond the edges we roam,
Wayfinder bring us home.
Clock dial ticking, fading light,
Maps grow old, stars shine bright.
No more echoes, no more signs,
Wayfinder, send us a line.
Wayfinder, light the way,
Through dark, through the fray.
Beyond the edges we roam,
Wayfinder bring us home.