Five leagues east of Karningul,
Where the Last Homely House looks west,
Beyond the road and over hill,
There lies a land that knows no guest.
The road goes on, the road goes on,
Through rain and wind and fading light,
And those who seek the hidden door
May find it—or be lost by night.
Five leagues east of Karningul,
where the wild winds wander free,
Beyond the road and mountain pass,
lies a place no map should be.
They say there's fire in every hearth,
And tables wide enough for all,
Where wandering feet may find their rest,
And strangers heed the evening call.
Five leagues east of Karningul,
Or so the old tales say...
But ask the road, and ask the hills—
They may not point the way.
