The nomad walks with a face to the floor,
memories upon memories and regret to the core.
He's had his chances and threw them away,
at yet he asks for more each day.
Although he's sure the seed he's planted,
will grow and flourish and not fall slanted,
he's scared of failure and what would follow,
that sickening feeling, so empty, so hollow
So as his eyes meet the sky,
and watch the daylight say goodbye,
He remembers family and the family home,
the warmest thing he has ever known.
Quickly he tries his best to forget,
and with the back of his hand wipes away the wet.
The best thing now is to wait for the sun,
to burn out the night, to make the dark run.
The nomad sits down with a face to the sea,
sees his reflection the reflection is me.....