I'm not here
to testify

I'm not here
to mystify

I'm not here
to justify

I didn't come here
to classify

I didn't come here
for no donkey ride

I feel out-side
I feel outside

I only came her
because my dog has died

I you are going to ride my ***
you could at least pull my hair.

She was pushing 55 when the bumper sticker
caught my eye. She was at the controls of a disturbed
yellow Datson with Nova Scotia plates when the bumper sticker caught my eye.

A combination of rust and bright yellow
sliced down the tops middle one wide strip of black,
heal to toe with tinted windows to boot.

1970,s Northern Canada, now a defunct country, hundreds of kids
thumbin' from east to west and from west to east.

I shared an Impala with to young ladies from Ontario
and the driver was as friendly as hell, as well as being deaf.

The Datson's bumper sticker now a distant memory...

Today there's not  many travelers, there's many being unemployed, ex-cons and dyed-in-the-wool Hobo's... homeward bound.
Plus those harboring severe drug and alcohol problems.... you could say it is no longer safe.

My traveling days are over
I left them 30  years ago in the dust.

I really thought I had seen the end of those days
30 years in my past. Today when I leave New Scotland, it's not long before I return home. I always miss the ocean.

The Atlantic is my choice, The Pacific smells like dank wood what, with all those firs and the logging industry.
Give me a campfire on a sandy eastern beach.

I'll wash sea-salt off my skin afore I jump into the sheets at days end. My skin being golden brown from the affects from a close enough star.

To my friends I say I'll bet you that I live longer than you
The problem is just how it is that I'm to collect my winnings

At my Open Casket funeral, it's in plain sight
They call it Open Casket because it's your remains to be seen

I've never had no problem giving a person his or her due
I give the respect they deserve, my respect I may just muster it up
But for most they only receive the utmost in common regard

I'm here to love this life though sometimes it's a pain in the ***
I hate when phony people and the wealthy 'ill eat' try to force
Their will on people or just plain buy them out

What is the plan? Are we too stupid to come up with one
Are we so self-absorbed to do more than just talk about some scheme, some ill conceived plan that makes sense to maybe a two year old

I don't ask for much, just don't lie to me, much less than try to force feed me a lot of *******. You know people are full of it when in conversation they ask you more than just one time 'How you doing'

They're fishing for some juicy gossip to spread just like a venereal
disease, a ****** cold sore that stays with you for life

Yes, yes, to be sure, evil does exist and it down right kills
Tell me please, why isn't it the cream that rises to the top
How come it's the dross, the slop that makes the piggy's come

I'd rather crawl my way towards the top. Filling this world with creation. I don't want to spend all my time ******* on the Government's **** just to feed and house myself
The Poor's they call us, how arrogant, how disgusting

Life may be at times strange but I'd have it no-other-way
And with that, all the best, I bid you have a good-day

What happens when a hoarder marries a minimalist
I'll tell you what happens, chaos, pure chaos
One tries to hang onto everything, Everything!
The other secretly removing items from their home keeping order

Old copies of The National Enquirer where the truth can be told,
not like the hundreds of Rolling Stone Magazines passing for news and entertainment did they ever change from a one-time underground press they started as.

The minimalist is always throwing stuff out and this purge is not taken well by the one wanting to hold on to everything, and not things that serve a purpose, she is like a magpie collecting shinning little bits as well as old and worn vehicles, cluttering up the yard surely making the neighbours smile... yeah right.

I can't keep doing this, he says, not only to himself but also to her.
Was God a hoarder. I think not. Everyday things go away. Species die none stop, Stars explode releasing boundless energy.
Space expands, more room, the sky looks cluttered but is so vast.

The hoarder and the minimalist. They oh so love each other nothing will tear them apart, they stand their ground, they love each other to the end of time, time and space. This life isn't a race it's a challenge. So they continue to give and to take. Love, it's love.

It was already midnight before we got to midday
a dark and solemn way into the weekend,
almost a funeral and that should not be,
said the funeral director at five minutes past
three.