I walk down the stairs, down the hall,
through the door, onto the street,
into the taxi I'd called -
settle into the well worn seat.
Watch the neon as we pass.
A blur of color in the night.
See the buildings in a flash,
speeding to the red-eye flight.
Flying away in summer rain.
Sleeping tonight up in the sky.
Off to somewhere else again.
Sometimes wondering why.
Movable life. Movable home.
A wandering soul takes the body along.
I'm not one who planned to roam,
but my calling's old, and my trade is song.
I see through the window, summer's moon,
shining on clouds, like a heavenly sea.
Tonight we sleep in a winged cocoon.
In the morning light, we'll all fly free.
I think, as I wait for sleep to come,
it seems to me, we all are on,
an ancient flight to the morning sun.
I study the scenes, and write my songs.
(Copyright 1997-"Future Folk" Music-Betty Curtis)
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