Paper Lions – Travelling
Travelling the road, last known is where I want to be
My compass directing, electing, an open road with golden trees
But there’s an old man in need on the ground, I try not to make a sound
He holds out his hand as I walk away, I hear him say
Please don’t be a stranger in my place
Traveling come to a tavern for a momentary rest
I see the old man that I passed on the road in his distress
As I turned to go I can hear him say, “Son, stay. Have a drink, I’ll pay.”
