the wind whistles down the highway
blowing apples off the apple trees
a hurricane forms on a distant planet
a serpent sleeps in the sea
i am not the tomato sandwich
nor am i the gabardine suit
i am not the fugitive from justice
or the hound in hot pursuit
i am only a lonesome hobo
on a park bench in the rain
i have told my story many times
and am ready to tell it again
i was born on the third planet
at the corner of south and main
but i never meant to do so
if you will just let me explain
i woke up one morning
and knew i was alive
they poked me with a stick
and said, you must work nine to five
the words meant nothing to me
the numbers even less
all i wanted was to be free
but i obeyed, and got dressed
in a thousand story building
gleaming in the sun
they told me i was number 4967076432785 -6
but i knew i was number one
with my fingers on a keyboard
and my back to the wall
i sat at my desk for fifty years
waiting for the call
angels flew above me
and heroes clashed outside
but i was only a hamster
along for the ride
one night i wrote a poem
and taped it to my desk
when i came back in the morning
you can guess the rest
a wanderer went wandering
singing a song
the sun was shining overhead
but not for long
they gave me a tomato sandwich
and sent me on my way
the wind whistled down the highway
and night followed day
i am only a lonesome hobo
on a park bench in the rain
i have told my story many times
and am ready to tell it again
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