High

An ill wind is blowing,

it's chilly frozen breath,

i'm tired of not knowing,

never get no rest.

My gypsy blood is boiling,

begging for the road.

I'm tired of this toiling,

sick of getting old.

Keep doin' both anyhow,

trying to get by.

Wish i had blown this town,

dying to get high.....

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.