(Poem) Hard Top Junkies


Just a Hard Top Junkie

I guess that’s what I have always been

Each day I drive this concrete sea

All my life I have spent a traveling man

Like a Gypsy with her crystal ball to see

Each day the old gray slab calls to me

Drawing all my breaths back to her again


Evicted from a common life

Drawn to see God’s great land

Friend or foe the old green stamp

Always has an outstretched hand

You work hard to be safe and free

Trying to feed and clothe the family

Thinking of the things I’ve done

Or the things I left for my Bride to do

So few possessions last, like relations lost

Drifting away then disappear like the setting sun


To all the soldiers, gypsies, bikers, and truckers

We all love our freedom, the people and the land

So sad that Big Brother tolerates no free thought

Never to be rewarded for the things we have done

Will we be confined to highways in the basement of Hell

Once our roaming is finished and our breathing is done


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