As I walk these narrow streets where a million passin' feet are before me

With my guitar in my hand suddenly I realize nobody knows me

Well yesterday the motor toots screamed and cried my name out for a song

Now the streets are empty and the crowds they go on home

With the rain on my face there's no place where I belong

And my whole life consists of a story of poem at a song

Now the truths I've tried to tell you are as distant as the moon

More than hundred years too late two hundred years too soon

I'm a child of the sage Lord's been in the pages of a book

But when I'm dust and clay where other people stop and to look

And will they marvel and miracles and perform into the high size to the spider

Oh will they take the pages of the book to light of fire

With the rain on my face there's no place where I belong