What Else Could I Be

I walk inside to get a bite, truck stop diner, late at night, eyes all red, I’m quite a sight to see. Take off my old trucker’s hate, think of the girls waiting out back, have no interest in getting that disease. Sometimes I wish I had a home, a wife and kids to call my own, more than voices on a phone to hear. But I know that I can’t have them, urge to move would just kill this man, some men aren’t mean to be a dad, I fear. As so the road takes me, one day it will break me, but what else could I be? Some souls have to roam free. I step off my fine Harley bike, my kind of bar to spend the night, just some fun, don’t need to fight today. Familiar visions greet my eyes, leather-clad women and guns, a felt pool table where they stand to play. Some people will never know why us vagrants take to the road, they never feel the urge to go drifting. Maybe I’ll never get respect, but they won’t see where I go next, See snow-capped Rockies for a stretch, shining. And so the bike takes me, one day it will break me, but what else could I be? Some souls have to ride free. Tramp along this broken trail, feeling wild, strong and hale, sunny day, their ain’t no gales this time. Hiking to that overlook, to take back what the office took, better views than a picture book this climb. Some say I play pioneer when I drag myself up here, others think I’m bloody weird to hike. But I think I would go insane sitting home with video games, why imitate when you can range outside? And so the trail takes me, one day it will break me, but what else could I be? Some souls have to hike free.