🌿 Sanctuary entrance
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3w9MX1qnmCopmXkpwkyI4A?si=Jwahcr1RRv-OU_8mkuoqkA

“Hail to the Dead End” — folk-anchored, Irish-pub grit, existential humor

A last-road toast sung at the crooked edge of fate, where lost travelers curse their luck only to discover they were guided all along. A rowdy, reflective hymn carried by cracked baritone, stomping floors, and the ghostly warmth of a chorus rising behind him. A song you need to listen when down.

He arrived at dawn’s undoing,
where the pathways split like cracks;
none were marked, and none were wooing,
each one whispering different facts.

So he stood there, irritation
curling tight around his chest,
till a stranger, half a beggar,
popped up, pointing—
“Left is best!”

He obeyed with grim suspicion,
mumbling softly—
“Fine… I’m sure.”
Yet the path, in its condition,
seemed less hopeless than before.

At the next fork, just appearing
when he nearly turned by guess,
came another from the bushes—
“Take it right! No more, no less!”

Pre-Chorus 1
Step by step through bends unbidden,
through the valleys steep and blind,
he was shepherded by figures
who looked scarcely in their mind.

Some were solemn, some were snickering,
snickering…
one just hummed and shooed him through;
one kept coughing like a warning—
“Just go forward. That’s for you!”

Through the crossroads, through confusion,
something keeps me moving on.
Every road is senseless meaning,
every choice a broken clock.
Yet the darkness keeps on shifting
as if guided by a song.

Still he followed, part exhausted,
part resigned and part bemused.
“What a cursed parade of nonsense!”
shouted he, wholly confused.

Till he reached a fork no longer—
just a barren, blinding plain.
No instructions, no more beggars,
no deranged advice again.

“Did you trick me?” came his whisper.
“Lead me nowhere? What a joke.”
All the fury of a lifetime
tightened sharply in his throat.

But the air grew strangely brighter
as soft footsteps stirred the gloom;
and from far beyond the dead end
figures rose as from a tomb.

Through the crossroads, through confusion,
anywhere could pull me on.
Every turn a wild illusion,
every hope a shattered clock.
Still the night begins to whisper
like it knows where I belong.

Every wanderer who’d met him,
every voice that bent his fate,
stood around him, now united,
calm, eternal… never late.

Do not fear this final pass,
said the one with embered eyes.
It’s the easiest of the journey—
no more guessing, no disguise.

Close your eyes and do not struggle,
do not measure, do not stall;
“We will guide you after all.”

Through the crossroads, through confusion,
somewhere starts to draw me on.
Every wrong becomes a lesson,
every crack repairs the clock.
And the path that once seemed aimless
feels less empty, less withdrawn.

He fell silent, somewhat sheepish,
as his anger lost its spark.
All his shouting felt absurd now
in this widening of dark.

All his dread dissolved like vapor
as he joined their gentle throng—

Through the crossroads, through confusion,
somebody keeps leading on.
Every detour finds its purpose,
every gear restores the clock.
And the light ahead grows clearer,
like a truth I’ve known along,
walking where the light is born.

Hail to the Dead End

Wanted on Voyage

Blame It on Me

Some Nights

Pre-save my new single 'Anyone For You', out Friday 28th Jan:
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Blame It on Me

George Ezra