Written: June 2, 2003
I am walking all alone,
all by myself on this lonely road.
I've been traveling night and day,
and all that I can really say,
is that I really don't have a place to go.
There is no place that's for me.
It's getting darker; I walk faster.
I'm not afraid; how can I be?
All that's on this road is me.
A time will come; that time hasn't passed.
I will be picked up and then asked,
"Why don't you go home?"
I can't answer the questions they ask;
I want to stay on this road.
I saw a flyer on that last light pole.
It had my picture on it and a number.
I quickly look away and just go.
I ran away last week.
I couldn't take all that heat.
So this is how it came to be;
this is why I'm walking all along,
all by myself, on this lonely road
with no place to go.