The Traveling Salesman

The four walls of this hotel room Look the same as the four walls of the other The name of the city where you happen to be Is just another detail in which you smoother The life of the traveler sounds glamorous To those we leave at home But there is no glamour lying awake all night In a double-bed all alone It’s the same sad faces in the hotel bar Spending per-diems on a meal of booze Business suits searching for the next prospect Submitting bids they’re apt to loose Your wife takes care of things at home Thinking you’re out having a good time While you wonder if at her bedroom door The neighbor men are forming a line Lunches consumed in airport terminals Rental cars of all shapes and size There is nothing fun about the people you meet In the not-so-friendly skies Yet bills must be paid And your bread is buttered on the road But don’t believe that this life is grand Regardless of the lies the traveler has told