No Place Left To Roam

When I was a small child I would always be outside, Must have blazed a hundred paths Just to see what I could find. Then they put me in a suit, And I cried out “I won’t go!” Left my home for wandering To see where I might roam. I trekked out through the prairie, But the farmer made me stop, Said to get on out of here, And stop damaging his crops. Then a rancher scowled at me, And no pasture would he loan, There’s no place on the prairie For men who want to roam. I walked up to the North Woods, The backcountry of Maine, Two days in a forest ranger Said I could not remain. He said it was timber land, No squatters would they know, Guess there’s no room in these trees For a man who wants to roam. So then I found the Rockies, Such a vast and empty space, Figured I could disappear Deep within that rugged place. But skiers came upon me, Said that I messed up their snow, Even in the high country There’s just no space to roam. The cedar swaps, big bayous, And deserts so vast and dry, Rain forests of Cascadia, All these places did I try. They’ve no love for wanderers, And they always told me so, What happens to men like me When there’s no place left to roam? One day I was in Florida, And I bought a rocket ship, They sent me to the heavens, I broke past Earth’s orbit. Facing that great, big darkness, With the vacuum and the cold, I saw what I dreamed about, Such endless space to roam…