Sept. 26th

Waking up in the cold, on the hard concrete road
A guitar to his left and a bottle to his right
After the show no one knows where he goes
He slips away to the edge of the night
A bard on the run, a gunslinger slung
Has he lost his way or broken the mold?
He's the last of his kind, all others in time
Have sold their souls for a pocketful of gold

Yeah, He's a storyteller yeah oh yeah

He's a traveling man, He plays his song
No one understands, just clap your hands
Off he goes to where nobody knows
Maybe he'll be back, be back one day
Maybe he'll be back with something to say
On and on, his road goes on

Hearing the crowd, rowdy and loud
Cigarette smoke with a stench and a sting
The vagabond king, who's known to sing
Sits on a throne all his own with no crown and no rings

Yeah, He's a storyteller yeah oh yeah

He's a traveling man, He plays his song
No one understands, just clap your hands
Off he goes to where nobody knows
Maybe he'll be back, be back one day
Maybe he'll be back with something to say
On and on, his road goes on



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