Tom: D
Introdução:
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I was walking by the graveyard, late last Friday night,
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I heard somebody yelling, it sounded like a fight.
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It was just a drunken hobo dancing circles in the night,
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Pouring whiskey on the headstones in the blue moonlight.
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So often have I wondered where these homeless brothers go,
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Down in some hidden valley were their sorrows cannot show,
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Where the police cannot find them, where the wanted men can go.
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There's freedom when your walking, even though you're walking slow.
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Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
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that homeless brother is my friend.
It's hard to be a pack rat, it's hard to be a 'bo,