The Pilgrim, Chapter 33

See him wasted on the sidewalk

In his jacket and his jeans

Wearing yesterday's misfortunes like a smile

Once he had a future full of money, love and dreams

Which he spent like they was going out of style

Then he keeps right on a changing

For the better or the worse

Searching for a shrine he's never found

Never knowing if believing is a blessing or a curse

Or if the going up was worth the coming down

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 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

He has tasted good and evil in your bedrooms and your bars

And he's traded in tomorrow for today

Running from his devils, lord

Reaching for the stars

Losing all his loves along the way

But if this world keeps right on turning

For the better or the worse

All he ever gets is older and around

From the rocking of the cradle

To the rolling of the hearse

The going up was worth the coming down

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 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

There's a lot of wrong directions on that lonely way back home