I’m driven from and addicted to the Open road
That pungent smell of wild oats freshly sewed

I’m finally home,
So worn down
I put up my tired feet

I Close my eyes,
But can still feel
Vibrations of the street

The lights are out, but I hear the sirens calling
The rights of doubt, are really quite appalling

The Heights are met, as I dream of ever falling
My sights are set, shouldn’t life be enthralling?

The lies men live when their home feels foreign
My eyes are merely wings, of an eagle soaring

A misfit Nomadic heart yearns the unknown
So quit the affliction and put away the phone
I admit I’m an addict, don’t mind being alone
A spirit in the attic, the ghost of being grown