Ant Smith
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I think I can be certain to say we were born
And certain we'll all see our graves
But the bit in between is the less certain course
For us wayfarers, waifs and strays

This living is losing yourself in landscapes
Without double crossing footsteps
With roots underpinning the web we are spinning
And a need for to know, if we are there yet?

Don't mind the gap or you can just sit on the track
For rails, they don't go anywhere
Never turn back, the past is the past is the past.
Even if, you - find that you have been delayed.

The destination's unknown, and the way's overgrown
For us wayfarers, waifs and strays