The Walking Man

Have you seen the walking man

Roaming on the ridge

Trundling through the forrest

Striding on the bridge

Beanie-head and booted feet

Walking to a dead beat

Never smiles or meets your eyes

Only looks to read the skies

Left right, left right

Carving up the sunlight

Far and wide he doesn't see

Short-circuit of a man is he

 

He knows the woods and winding lanes

'I saw him there, he's there again!'

Inside his pack some water, smokes

Some bread and cheese, a knife, a rope

For when he cannot walk no more

A wave to wash him off the shore

Every day the same, contained

Come snow and gales or sheets of rain

His day is sown, his future haltered

The balance of his mind unaltered

 

He dwells in rooms with itchy beds

And other men with jangled heads

Before the man the boy was keen

To march in time and wear the green

They pin him down the things he's seen

When he was working for the queen

To time he treads the tufted ground

And feels his comrades all around

Their faces in the Hawthorn bloom

Their voices in the Blackbird's tune

 

He's treading water, threading air

Remembering when he was there

Expression blank and legs of wire

For hours on end he'll never tire

His feet are sure, he feels no pain

An ordered life is in his veins

Through the valley, down the dale

Pounds the footpath on the vale

The walking keeps his body clean

And cuts his nerves to something lean

He smells of soap, spotless he keeps

Himself and shaves his hollowed cheeks

 

Don't fret for your dear daughters

On the quiet, wooded winds

He's had his fill of grizzled flesh

His share of heinous crimes

His sacred sisters call him up

And hear him talk in stifled burst

He cannot love, he fears the worst

Their loving force will warm his heart

And blisters of his mind will burst

He roams until his body's spent

Sleeping, walking overlap

The sag of time will shatter him

To stop and think, he leaves no gap