Meet the nomads of America,

the misfits of our race

the ones who ride on rails in boxcars

Carrying Lives

from place to place.

Meet the ones

Who stick out thumbs,

Gypsies of the high plains

and Roma tribes of Oregon.

The state fair circus folk

with peculiar tattooed faces,

Staring through the sunburnt haze

into the depths

of outer space.

The carny girls

who pass through town

and band van drifters

who just don’t

stick around…

it’s something that we

have never had,

but i guess that’s all it really is;

just a different type of being sad,

the hunted vagabond kid.

the loneliness of the road,

the freedom of the wanderer,

the empty absence of a home-

but at times i think,

Fuck it let’s go,

Pack my shit

and

Westward Ho.