Eyes scratched dull with dust
Hands smell of leather and oil
Highway Vagabond
As Freedom beckons
The boat is still high and dry
She waits for me there
Winter is upon
The land and keeps me driving
I long to sail her
I am so alone
I walk the path I've chosen
It must be just so.
It is only now
Suffering is attachment
I can't find the bull.
Stuck at a truckstop
Pickup is for tomorrow
Laundry has been done.
Driving in the fog
Life can be like this as well
White line disappears.
Asphalt and Cement
Sterile yet covered in dust
Weeds can have beauty
The snap of elastic
Rustle in the stall next door
Oh, to crap alone
