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roger-turnerPoems
I bounce around from town to town Never really laying roots My world is in my duffle With a second pair of boots I muddle through with what I have I'm always on the road With my thoughts, and few possessions That's me, always on the go I do not have a fixed address My thumb, it leads the way I've woken up in farmers fields I've slept near bales of hay My thumb, it is my compass I don't reside too long I move around at random I'm a lyric with no song I've slept beneath a starlit sky Woken up in feather beds I don't know where I'll be each day Or where I'll lay my head I've lived down by the train tracks Woken up as they go by I've cavorted with a scarecrow As the birds still filled the sky I do not have a fixed address My thumb, it leads the way I've woken up in farmers fields I've slept near bales of hay My thumb, it is my compass I don't reside too long I move around at random I'm a lyric with no song I do not like to stick around To linger, that's not me When I start to getting comfortable It's time to leave, be free I have no one that I'm close to For to leave would cause them pain The world is there to travel And, well....now, I'm off again...
0
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Second Pair of Boots or My thumb, it leads the way
I bounce around from town to town Never really laying roots My world is in my duffle With a second pair of boots I muddle through with what I have I'm always on the road With my thoughts, and few possessions That's me, always on the go I do not have a fixed address My thumb, it leads the way I've woken up in farmers fields I've slept near bales of hay My thumb, it is my compass I don't reside too long I move around at random I'm a lyric with no song I've slept beneath a starlit sky Woken up in feather beds I don't know where I'll be each day Or where I'll lay my head I've lived down by the train tracks Woken up as they go by I've cavorted with a scarecrow As the birds still filled the sky I do not have a fixed address My thumb, it leads the way I've woken up in farmers fields I've slept near bales of hay My thumb, it is my compass I don't reside too long I move around at random I'm a lyric with no song I do not like to stick around To linger, that's not me When I start to getting comfortable It's time to leave, be free I have no one that I'm close to For to leave would cause them pain The world is there to travel And, well....now, I'm off again...
roger-turner
Written by
roger-turner
Canadian
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
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