on this road that has been carved,
that has been carved in wood,
in wood and has been drawn,
been drawn on a canvas,
on a canvas, worn out yet new,
yet new of experiences,
experiences of tomorrow's painting,
tomorrow's painting, of tomorrow's footprints,
tomorrow's footprints of a traveller.
Footprints of a traveller, my footprints.
My footprints for I am that traveller.
My feet are full of dust, my shoes worn out,
my knees are weak, but strengthened,
by the wind I walk against, the rains I dance in,
the storms I run into, enlightening me with lightnings,
of acknowledgment, of approval..
Discouragements have been tides,
I've rose above, ridden over.
Disappointments have been trips,
I've taken aboard my spaceship,
but never tripped on them.
So now like Johnny I have to keep walking,
I have to keep stalking my dreams,
stroking my guitar strings,
as I sing myself hoarse into the greys of the nights.
Walking the talk, has never been harder.
Miles into my journey, the less I talk,
the less I have to prove.
The more I talk, the short I fall under.
Am human. I stink of mistakes,
almost as much, the scent of my victories.
It's a mystery.
For a journey with a history,
not as sweet as honey,
living days for tomorrow,
leaving stress and sorrow,
behind.. Solving puzzles,
walking through mazes,
and still, am I there yet?
When will this be over?
When will I walk and look not over my shoulders?
When will I walk and look to see the holder?
Of the prize of the walk at the end of the journey?
And we will sit by the bonfire,
reflections of yesterday woven into our conversations,
for what is life spent without motivation?
What is light bent without a refraction?
A beneficiary of a life well lived?
I'll keep walking till I get there.
For no other option have I;
I am a traveller.
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