The cute bomber jacket you’ve had since sixth form Adorned with patches of places you’ve been Is nothing on my khaki coat I got From a roadside when I was sixteen My boots are from airports My backpack’s from friends I’m not a man of substance and so I’ll pretend To be a wanderer, wandering Leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins
The roads are my home as horizon’s my target If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it Treating my memory of you like a fire, let it Burn out, don’t fight it and try to move on It’s been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna A bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face I’ll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready And I’ll put down my roots when I’m dead
The distance is futile Come on, don’t be hasty You’ll get that feeling deep inside your bones I’ll be gone then when you must be alone