Home is a feeling within your heart.
Where ever you are, wherever you be.
The wanderer of lands he makes his mark.
A tinker by choice, maker and mender of simple things,
A feeling man of wise thoughts.

He spins a story of mirth and frail.
Plays the flute and bangs the drum,
From pillar to post,
From north to south,
To the rhythm of the waves.

He travels the land without the shackles of time,
By modern chariot, in style, along those country lanes.
Rolling back the Pagan years,
Living a life of a playful skunk.
Freeing the youth in the old man of punk.

On the wall of the hippie bus.
A chunky graven image hangs high in hippie style.
Home is where the heart is, ay!
And more?