I've been cast off from my own,
those I called my friends are gone.
There is no place for me to pitch my tent,
far from the land of my people I'm sent.
Had it not been for the Spirit of Yah
I would have died without tribe or home

Because I run the ancient trail,
12 tribes I call my brethren.
Because His fire runs through my veins,
my soul shall not fear its fate

I once sat with my empty dreams,
my hands filled with worthless things
But when my soul found peace with Yah's spirit in me
I cast away all that hindered me,
and now I run like a deer set free

Because I run the ancient trail
a bow of bronze my hands can bend
Because His fire runs through my veins,
dark spirits shall flee before me