Music Weaver

	I'm a long way from you,
	I'm a long way from home.
	And who cares for the feeling
	Of being alone?
	The notes and the words
	They will always unfold
	And I'm left with a manuscript
	That will grow old
	And the secrets all told anyway.
	So the song it is yours,
	And the song it is mine.
	And a cold wind it blows
	Through good fortunes of time.
	The hobo he leaves
	When the going is bad
	And the music he weaves
	Is so gentle and sad.
	But freedom he has anyway.