Like a rolling stone,
With no direction.
Hitting other rocks,
Scaterring dirt and dust as I roll along.
Would I stop?
Would I find my way home?
Would I find my own space?
Like everyone seem to be doing.
Maybe it's a long way.
Maybe I'll just roll along and through life.
It's hard; being a rolling stone.
We'll might enjoy the roll,
Pick up stuff as we go,
Shed a few things in the process.
Eventually home would be in sight.
So roll, stone. Roll!