I think I’ve done it now
run out of places to hide
painted myself into a corner
surrounded on every side

For like every pilot
that ever learned to fly
I’ve got to help the captain
whenever I’m in the sky

All my time of thumbing
and a haulin heavy loads
links me with the Gypsies
that I meet along the roads

And if I look from side to side
at the lands along the way
why the farmer and the rancher
still within me want their say

Whenever I get to stop to rest
at any sweet Inn along the way
the years I’ve spent in running one
with constant detail mark my stay

And now I’m studying psychology
and the hidden parts of you and me
and prevalidation and master talk
and how one ought to walk one’s walk

Capped with the writers joy and chore
of finding a metaphor behind each door