This is what I call writing from the soul. Great post, my friend. Add the video and you never disappoint. Have a read, why doncha?
Walkin’ Billy had no friends, born and bred a bastard’s child, his a heart grown wild.
Town after town, moving like a mountain river, currents never ceased – gravity’s pull kept him searching for the peace.
It left the day Momma died leaving him on his own, man-boy on the move to wonder what was the meaning of life alone.
Day followed day, year followed same, inevitable he grew weary of wallowing in the pain.
Settled in a small town instinct led him to, the voice inside his head it echoed “it’s all up to you”.
Heart beating strong in spite of life’s ironic twist, having searched four corners of the earth, Walkin’ Billy found himself returned to his place of birth.