folks wagon

By | January 21, 2016

Bus Travel

Everybody’s talking at me.
I don’t hear a word they’re sayin’,
Only the echoes of my mind.

People stopping, staring.
I can’t see their faces,
Only the shadows of their eyes.

I’m going where the sun keeps shining,
Through the pouring rain.
Going where the weather suits my clothes.

Banking off of the northeast winds,
Sailing on a summer breeze,
And skipping over the ocean like a stone.

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