No home, no rest, being oneself at best
Truly I wander and roam
I wonder our admission and why
You\’re born you suffer you die
These cords slip beneath the lowest note
The rhythm shifts and rhythms slow
Sinking deep and far below
That which is borrowed
“the greatest sorrow”
Can not time make due ‘tis playing ear
Wasted efforts of the homeless drawing near
“it\’s warm I\’m cold can\’t you see can\’t you see”
“no place my own or heat won\’t you please”
And these beggars among whom I am named
They simply sell out and along they play
I\’ll rather wander and roam
No place to call my own
Than escape the cold
And doest escape my soul
No home, no rest, being oneself at best
Truly I wander and roam
I am slurred in thought but you can\’t catch up to me
I\’ve opened my mind and let my soul be free
Thus I tower the tallest though giant I\’m none
I stand amidst the gardens and shadow the sun
Simple yes, fashioned in glory\’s eye
Inside my tent wrestling the cold tonight
MYSELF©

This post was last modified on December 16, 2005 - learn more.

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