Paroles: Marianne Faithfull. Prologue.

Midway, this way of life we're bound upon
I woke to find myself in a dark wood
Where the right road was wholly lost and gone

Aye me, how hard to speak of it
That rude and rough and stubborn forest
The mere breath of memory stirs the old fear in the blood

But when, at last, I stood beneath a steep hillside
Which closed that valley's wandering maze
Whose dread had pierced me to the heart root deep

Then I looked up and saw the morning rays
Mantle its shoulder from that planet bright
Which guides men's feet aright on all their ways