Tollbooth Tax Poem by Phillip Erb

I began this song at four a.m. in an attempt to make friends
With an empty room, and lettered keys instead of my pen,
You know it’s hard as ever opening myself to someone new
Most time I just leave the room like there’s something to do
My legs are restless, and they each have a mind of their own
They walk some, mostly they run, by the time morning comes
I realize before I open my eyes that the faces have changed
Each person is someone different, but the people are the same
The price of knowing all the back roads from here to Rome
Is a pair of shoes to carry your heart, it can grow quite heavy alone
When it weighs this much I think I’ll just set it down before I go
Should the wind cut through my clothes and make my bones so cold
I don’t make it back to pick it up before the curtain calls me to the show
At least I’ll still have a soul, though truth be told he and I never spoke
A word since I started all of this walking, I think he misses home.