He travels, because he has no place to stay
From every home he had, he drove himself away
He thought he needed to move, had something to prove
But now he goes because that's all he knows
And his thoughts haunt him as he walks
Driving him mad, as to himself he talks
He has no rest, no pillow, no home
His drive - now curse - was only to roam
He is old now, and can't move as fast
Aged not by years, but sorrows of years past
He watches from his street corner, tucked in a cardboard box
The smiles and laughs of those who knew how to stop
To live, unlike he, never jumping from the rocks...
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