I can see myself it's a golden sunrise

Young boy open up your eyes

It's supposed to be your day.

Now off you go horizon bound

And you won't stop until you've found

Your own kind of way.

And the wind will whip your tousled hair,

The sun, the rain, the sweet despair,

Great tales of love and strife.

And somewhere on your path to glory

You will write your story of a life.





And all the towns that you walk through

And all the people that you talk to

Sing you their songs.

And there are times you change your stride,

There are times you can't decide

Still you go on.

And then the young girls dance their gypsy tunes

And share the secrets of the moon

So soon you find a wife.

And though she sees your dreams go poorly

Still she joins your story of a life.





So you settle down and the children come

And you find a place that you come from.

Your wandering is done.

And all your dreams of open spaces

You find in your children's faces

One by one.

And all the trips you know you missed

And all the lips you never kissed

Cut through you like a knife.

And now you see stretched out before thee

Just another story of a life.





So what do you do now?

When she looks at you now?

You know those same old jokes all the jesters tell

You tell them to her now.

And all the same old songs all the minstrels sang

You sing 'em to her now.

But it don't matter anyhow

'Cause she knows by now.





So every chance you take don't mean a thing.

What variations can you bring

To this shopworn melody.

And every year goes by like a tollin' bell.

It's battered merchandise you sell.

Not well, she can see.-acapo