I took my piece of cedar and I stepped on down the line,

 to try and carve the map I need to get back through the pines.

The blade I brought is dull, but I gotta reach the other side.

A stone's throw from the radios I used to listen to,

I dropped that blade into a lake carving out the moon.

He'll be known just the same, and he wont feel a thing.

And if you ask him if he'd like to stay that way he'd say he's not ashamed.

I tip-toed through the Pocanos but it was too damn cold.

I got some holes in my soles and couldn't feel my nose,

but that cedar's long burning flame kept me warm, kept me sane.

I back tracked to the place I lacked any fear at all,

strung my home up on a hill to see over the wall.

Two sides make two minds too prideful to think alike.

You must be breathing the same air to be in the fight.