Billy Dyer

Billy Dyer was a postcard writer
Traveling the whole world 'round
Sent letters to his folks
To tell them all about
The things that he found

I never met him but it sure upset me
When I heard Billy was gone
Billy Dyer must have lit a fire
Somewhere deep in my bones

My mother Mildred raised some mighty fine children
There were seven in all
Despite my education
And the way my mother raised me
Lord, I still heard the call

When I set out on the road
No one told me just how lonely I'd be
Or of the time I would waste
Trying to raise enough change
To pay the cost of being free

Let your legs go where they'll go
Let your heart roam
Home is never home
For the children of the road

I tried to write but couldn't justify
All of the mistakes that I'd made
So instead of writing letters
I figured postcards would better
Keep demons at bay

Never revealing the regret I was feeling
For not facing my fears
Only places on a map
And some writing on the back
That said "Wish you were here."

Let your legs go where they'll go
Let your heart roam
Home is never home
For the children of the road

If home is where the heart is
What if your heart's broken
If sorry's where the start is
What if it's unspoken
One day the road may bring me back to you

Mother Mildred raised some mighty fine children
There were seven in all
But because of Billy Dyer
One fell in the fire
Trying to stand up too tall