Now, in this faraway land
Strange, that the palms of my hands
Should be damp with expectancy
Spring, and the air's turning mild
City lights, and the glimpse of a child
Of the alleyway infantry
Friends, do they know what I mean
Rain, and the gathering green
Of an afternoon out-of-town
But Lord I had to go
My trail was laid too slow behind me
To face the call of fame
Or make a drunkard's name for me
Though now this other life
Has brought a different understanding
And from these endless days
Shall come a broader sympathy
And though I count the hours
To be alone's no injury