The dead gathered round to bid me adieu.
Some walked on the ice, one step in the doo.
A ride from a mother cruel to her kid.
The whore and a junkie continued her skid.
Feet born to travel faced Eastern trip.
A country ahead and answers to grip.
With dawn there is motion, I head to the sun.
It brings me the day, this prodigal son.
Stop for the markers and the breaking of bread.
Sleep when tired and process through dreads.
Crank up the music and feel well this land.
The traveler travels, on instinct not plan.
There will be more words to share on the way.
Know well your buddy and come back okay.
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