And If There Come The Singers

 

There’s a city by the river

I can call it home, my home

All where I am going

I’m searching, I’m searching for my home

A vagabond’s dream is to build a house of stone

With roses on the porch growing

And the children playing

 

And if there come the singers

And if there come the dancers

And if there come the players

But of their gifts also

For they, too, are gatherers

And that which they bring

Though fashioned of dreams

Is food for the soul

 

I’m as free as a bird

A slave, but a slave to the world

Happiness is with me

I promise to know sadness too

Did you ever know the sun

Kiss the street after the rain

Did you ever know beauty

Come again, again and again?

 

And I said, “the street was dead

It had sucked, it had sucked out my blood”

Oh, was I so tired, so tired

Trusting too much in my luck

There were always roses on the porch

Strawberries for tea

Always children playing in the

Vagabond’s dream