The Traveler

            TINKER:       

Life was a bore until I hit the road;
Just me and my Harley, breaking the code
Of that everyday humdrum. I couldn't survive
In a world where a living is made 9 to 5.
That highway before me became my best friend.
I couldn't stop riding til I found the end.
The traveler's contentment is in the next town.
He has to keep moving to somewhere.
He can't settle down.

Counting the miles from Seattle to Maine,
Shreveport to Lansing through sleet, snow and rain,
From Florida Keys down to old Mexico,
From the cold of the Yukon to Ontario.
Each city is different. Each city's the same.
You fill them with people and just change the name.
New York to Denver and old Chicago,
To the city of angels,
It follows wherever you go.

My greatest joy was the wide-open highway;
Cornfields and wheat fields, the wide-open plains;
Mountains and rivers, no obstacles for me;
Crossing the boundaries 
Free from all shackles and chains.

What do you do when the traveling is over?
Where do you go when you've been everywhere?
The child in you still an eternal explorer,
Longing to know what the hell is out there.
Don't look around to see who is behind you.
You never were one to run with the pack.
Don't bother packing and don't bother planning.
All that you need are the clothes on you back.

Always the traveler, always the dreamer,
Destiny calls and you gladly obey.
Your future lies in a different direction
Somewhere out there
In a land that is far far away.
Traveling on down that long endless highway,
Longing to see all that there is to see.
Life is a road bent in many directions.
The life of a traveler
Has always been happy for me.

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