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Travelling
Travelling the road less known is where I want to be
My compass directing, electing an open road with golden trees
But there’s an old man in need on the ground, I try not to make a sound
He hold’s out his hand as I walk away, I hear him say
Please don’t be a stranger in my place
Please don’t be a stranger in my place
Travelling, I come to a tavern for a momentary rest
I see the old man that I passed on the road in his distress
I turned to go, then hear him say, son, stay have a drink, I’ll pay
Let bygones be gone, it’s all in the past, we raise a glass