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.
