No comfy couch
No chains to bind me
Just a road and two legs
With no one to come and find me

Got a staff
and a good pair of boots
Couple grey hairs in a bristled beard
Rudderless fits best when your chopped off at the roots

The road in front of me
Looks a lot like the one behind
Empty, baron wasteland of paint and asphalt
faces ahead unseen similar to the others distorted with time

No place to rest
My weary and aching bones
No one left to believe in here nor there
Never really was anyway so far from home

People are beasts
Weighed down by the burdens they bare
But I drag a wagon to carry them lightly
And pretend that I don't care

But my hands tire
From the heavy load behind me
So I let it go and carry on further and further still
For I am the traveler, and I have no teathers to keep me here