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The Traveler

from The Middle by James Keyes

/

lyrics

They toasted whiskey in the winter under the moon
he sold his soul in March and stole it back by June
He was a stranger;
In the moment but not of it, like you or me

He was always coming and always on his way
Walked from Portland to Hartford and back in a day
He had all the time in the world
But he just couldn't stay long today

Devil on his tail, pillar to post
Home's the open road, mountains to coast he roams...
There he goes
Every day's another story but the story never ends
Can't know where you're going if you don't know where you've been
I know... I've been told

A wooden nutmeg or an oak leaf cigar
For the right price he could sell heat to a fire
He could tell you a story or sing you a song he wrote
Guitars of silver and trumpets of gold
He could sell you the stars when the daylight got old
You could tell him what you want
but he'd already know what you need

Well the last time anyone saw him he was walking through the rain
Headed north to the Berkshires towards Lake Champlain
But it could have been anyone
And you never heard it from me...

credits

from The Middle, released November 23, 2013

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James Keyes

Six string dream slinging musical maestro, teller of tall tales and short stories, social media soliloquist, blues shouter, country crooner Rocknroll raconteur and avant folk rambler, pint quaffer, shot shooter, foot stomper, soul singer, rain bringer, and left fingered proletariat provocateur. ... more

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