I'm a long way from you,
 I'm a long way from home.
 And who cares for the f
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 secret's 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.


 Prepared by: Paul Hosken (RMCB@VM.OP.DLR.DE