I used to call it freedom- When I lived out on the road. I guess in it’s own way that’s what it was. I had no place I had to be- I had no worry load…. I was just another rebel with no cause. I remember in the bunkhouse When we’d turn out the light…. I’d lay there in my bedroll and I’d dream- Of having one to love me And hold me near at night…. I wasn’t near as happy as I seemed. Many nights I’d spread my bed Beneath the western stars…. Beside some highway headed “God knows where” No money in my pockets I’d blown it all in bars… Nobody on this earth who really cared. I guess that it was freedom But friend the price was high. I doubt that I would take that route again- There’s something in that kind of life That makes you long to fly… You’ll always be a brother to the wind.
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