Why do men travel the world to see things that do not move — to see trees rooted and mountains unmovable?
Is it to conquer the great?
Or to know that we are small?
“There’s a man ‘ere out in the corner, he’s been asking me for change
and I could use some…
There’s a hole here in my pocket it reminds me of the ways
I am hungry
Always running, for an open door
On the highway heavy-hearted, humming just to hear a sound
Loneliness it lingers through unfamiliar towns
All of them stunning, but none of them home
And I don’t know if I live like this for peace of mind
Can’t say if I do it for the foolish pride
Maybe it’s all just to prove that I’m alive
Am I running just to run
Sometimes its seems running is all I’ve ever done…”