There are some men, who can't sit still
wandering souls who don't fit in
You'll find they trek the globe at will
breaking the hearts of next of kin

They range the field to ford each flood
wander mountains and sail the seas
Theirs is the curse of Gypsy Blood
so averse to a life of ease

Many I knew were brave and true
as their deeds and manners attest
Don't let them get attached to you
as they never know how to rest

They find no solace in the old
forever searching for the new
Theirs is a life both tough and bold
although of friends they share but few

They blindly search the noon day sun
for a future that's now their past
Then think of all they could have done
when forced to face the truth at last

There was a time when this was me
desire of rest yet never done
A drifting soul upon life's sea
of adventures I loved each one

We knew no peace, nor settled mind
having nowhere that we called home
Never to know what we might find
each of our soul's was set to roam


Tate