On My Way Back Home Again (Oct 12)
In the roads, in the mountains across
and the buildings that remain untouched
lies a horse alongside the telephone poles
running and running from the burning sun
with a flock of white birds following above.
In my travels I stumbled upon this cross
mourning the death of a man who drove
his car and his family outside the road
falling of a cliff and landing on the sea
or at least, that's the story they told me.
And I think of a lot of things
that's what you do when you've been traveling
for a lot of years, for this many years.
I found myself lost on the streets
without way, without identity
only searching for a path towards home
as my travels don't mean anything anymore
so I'm going back to where I belong.
So I'm turning my back to the buildings
and search for an old, dust road
where only me and my traveling soul
can walk across the hills and valleys
since that's the only place where I can be happy.
I'm coming back home, again.
I'm on my way back home, again.
It's been a while. I wrote this on a bus when I was traveling to the music of Jim Ward. I liked this.