Whatever came of that traveling man?
Got a few keepsakes, fewer plans
Goes to the garden when his money is green
Has a few odd children he’s never seen

Man traveling

Floats his own canoe you know he fires his own train
Flies in the gutter, sometimes runs down the drain
He dreams in gesture, he rises in blood
He falls uneasy, he rides in love

Man traveling
Man traveling

He dreams cinnamon, he dreams sage
Acts out his birth sometimes, never his age
He’s got a memory for tight spots and trends
And a few rough gems he calls his friends

Man traveling
Man traveling
Man traveling

What’s left in the breadbox gets wrapped on the bone
He’s got a rough lover he calls home
He lives in her purse and those of two friends
He dreams everything he never spends

Man traveling
Man traveling
Man traveling
Traveling

He goes overland, he goes underground
Goes air and water stowaway – ’less ’n’ he’s found
He looks under rocks when the looking is good
When the looking is bad he looks misunderstood

Man traveling
Man traveling
Man traveling
Traveling
Traveling traveling man