i am a son of the open road
a wanderer bold and free
i shoulder no boss's heavy load
i sip no sunday tea
i've picked up butts in fifty states
been in jail in thirty-two
i've sung with the wind, and laughed with the fates
and to my own self i'm true
if your aunt muriel comes to town
don't ask me to play croquet
i'll spill champagne on her nice pink dress
i'll make the vicar faint away
confucius, now, he'd be my pal
michelangelo, he'd pat me on the back
and i've still got an eye for a pretty gal
as i whistle down life's track
i am a son of the open road
a wanderer bold and free
i shoulder no boss's heavy load
i sip no sunday tea
3 comments:
Love the shooting star at the end. Awesome. Thanks for the piece - a morning pleasure, with coffee and Hawkwind.
PG
An instant classic.
i even heard a guitar playing in the background...
so soulful!
"and to my own self i'm true"
how beautifully you summed up what each journey -real or mystical- should come to...
namaste!
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