See him wasted on the sidewalk
In his jacket and his jeans
Wearing yesterday's misfortunes
Filled with money, love and dreams
Which he spent like it was
And he keeps right off a -changin'
For the better or the worse
Searchin' for a shrine he never found
Never knowin' if the leavin'
He's a poet, he's a picker
He's a prophet, he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher
And a prophet when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction
Part with truth, part with fiction
Taking every wrong direction
On his lonely way back home
He has tasted good and evil
in your bedrooms and your bars
Running from the devil's lord
and reaching for the stars
And losing all he loves along the way
But if this world keeps right on turning
for the better or the worse and
all he gets is older and brown
from the rocking of the cradle
to the rolling of the hearse
what's worth the coming down
He's pilgrim and a preacher,
and a problem when he's stoned.
He's a walking contradiction,
partly truth and partly fiction,
Taking every wrong direction
on his lonely way back home.
Taking every wrong direction
on his lonely way back home. you
