O city, I
Am leaving you,
In these dying days
Of my golden youth.
I'm too young to speak
Of settling;
My feet are not yet weak and
Fit for the walking.
O city, I
Don't understand
This dirty air,
This covered land.
'Neath starless skies
No child should sleep,
Nor have some false horizon
Tow'ring within reach.
O city, I
I don't know how to stay.
There's nowhere to plant
In this painted place.
I only see stems
With no nourishment
They lie all dead and dry
Scattered on the cement.
So, city, I
Am leaving you,
In these dying days
Of my golden youth.
I'm too young to speak
Of settling;
My feet are not yet weak and
Fit for the walking.
I'll walk away
I'm too young to speak
Of settling;
My feet are not yet weak and
Fit for the walking,
My knees bend with the reeds and
Call for traveling,
My legs and conscience beg
For the call the road will bring.
Bring me away