Backpack man

Backpack man, you know something I don’t know,
Your beard flowing with weathered journeys, like a scroll written, revised and published,
I see your tired eyes, they read like the road you’ve wandered,
Dusty and limitless,
I hear the gentle song your feet hum strolling alone across the beaches of steel,
Skyscraper shorelines stretch across your smile, an infinite horizon In your grin,
Abandoned railroad tracks flow through your veins,
Paving the way for old forgotten trains,
You’ve traded your business suits for ragged boots, and the wide wild world of experience,
I see you back pack man, sweating in my tie,
Enslaved by the american dream,
A deep and shallow lie,
Something unattainable,
I wish for your life.


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