Oh, City I am leaving you.
In these dying days of my golden youth.
I'm too young to speak of settling.
My feet are not yet weak and fit for the walking.
Oh, City I don't understand,
This dirty air, this covered land.
Neith starless skys no child should sleep,
Nor have some false horizon tow'ring within reach.
Oh, City I don't know how to stay.
There's nowhere to plant in this paved place.
I only see stems with no nourishment,
they lie all dead and dry scattered on the cement
So, City I am leaving you.
These dying days of my golden youth.
I'm too young to speak of settling.
My feet are not yet weak and fit for the walking.
I'll walk away.
Too young to speak of settling.
My feet are not yet weak and fit for the walking.
My knees bend with the breeze and call for traveling.
My legs and conscience beg for all the road will bring.
(many thanks to Jon West).
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