The people nice to me in case you get me wrong
But i must be off been around here too long
Nomadic Jim said to me in a farewell good day
As to the railway station he hurried on his way
One in his late forties showing his years in gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
But it matters little to him if his best days are gone
He was born to travel and he will travel on
One who has seen much of the big World out there
His thoughts often lure him to places elsewhere
The lust of the wander is an addictive thing
Who knows where he will be for the birth of next Spring
He may be in Capetown or Berlin or Rome
To Nomadic Jim there is no place called home.
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