david lessard (september fourteenth, nineteen forty-one / gardner, massachusetts)
A different breed of men
Meet me in St. Louie, meet me in St. Paul,
Meet me in Seattle or don't meet me at all.
See me in New York, see me in L. A.,
See me in Salt Lake City, or San Francisco Bay.
Watch for me in Houston, watch for me in Big D,
Or check out Arizona, perhaps that's where I'll be.
The itch to roam is strong, I cannot sit too long,
The winds are calling me, and I must heed its song.
There's men that can't stay still, they must be on the road,
There's men that can't be rooted, they do not fit the mode.
You'll find them way out west, or on the eastern coast,
Wherever you may find them, they cannot be the host.
They can't stand being tied down, to any certain thing,
They can't stand being stagnant, they must be on the wing.
Time for them means nothing, time for them is now,
You see them hiking mountains, not behind a plow.
They've a restless urge to wander, down many paths of life,
They cannot comprehend to loaf, most don't have a wife.
They're the hermits and the misfits, just ordinary men,
But they don't break at all, and neither do they bend.
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