The Folk Singer

As I walk these narrow streets
Where a million passing feet have tried before me
With my guitar in my hand suddenly I realize nobody knows me
Where yesterday the multitude screamed and cried my name out for a song
The day the streets are empty and the crowds have all gone home
I pass a million houses, but there is no place where I belong
All I knew to give it was song after song after song
All the truth I try to tell you were as distant to you as the moon
Born 200 years too late and 200 years too soon

I'm a child of this age, locked inside the pages of your book
And when I am but dust and clay and other children stop take look
Well they marble at the miracles I did before them
And to the heights I did inspired
Or will they tear out the pages of the book to light a fire
With the rain on my face there is no place where I belong
Did you forget the folk singer so soon?
And did you forget my song?