Ant Smith

This Life


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

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This Life