With a pack on my back and a bag to lug around,
I walk in between the drops of Vancouver rain
Escaping a city that’s passing me by
Like a seasoned wanderer that leaves without care

Will tomorrow find me with quarters and loonies?
Or another couch to surf and fall asleep on?
Will the answers lead me to yet more questions?
Or will I finally leave this life without a home?

I trace the lines on my face and wonder
If my dreams lie across the bridge made of gold
There’s no way to know unless I start walking,
So perhaps I should dream no more.

With a pack on my back and a bag to lug around,
I fly towards the skies of San Francisco

2013.09.27.05.50.pm.pst

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