I am the traveller
I live for today
And I carry my wealth in my hands
Asking you only
The right to be lonely
And live out my life as I can
When I was young
I would dream of a time
When the flowers would not cease to bloom
Now my days are growing cold
And I know it’s the end of my rhyme
And time
Has passed me by
I am the minstrel
I’ll give you a melody
With these old grey withered hands
Brushing the dust from these strings
I will sing of a time when my thoughts
Were single grained
When I was young
I would dream of a time
When the flowers would not cease to bloom
Now my days are growing cold
And I know it’s the end of my rhyme
And time
Has passed me by

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