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