I am a blurred-out, background spot in the photo on your wall I am of little significance to anyone here at all I’m just a man with no roots Borrowed songs and busted boots Always broke, but on the move I am a tourist in your sunny day Like the babysitter And when I see your dog smile I cry inside a little ’cause there’s just… CHORUS So much to touch, but never enough to hold When you live your life through postcards and telephones Just like the wind blowing through Or that train going a choo-choo We were born with walking shoes So I guess I’ll be seeing you We were born with walking shoes God bless my soul, as I take his name in vain We are cursed to be travelers in search of fame So when we hit the Hollywood Hills We’re gonna scream our names Hoping one day that they’ll echo We are the tourists in your sunny day Both sweet and bitter And life is just a work in progress It makes us sigh a little ’cause there’s just CHORUS CHORUS So much to touch, but never enough to hold You can live your life like Mr. Dylan’s Rolling Stone He left the answers on the wind And behind that choo-choo We were born with walking shoes. So I guess I’ll be seeing you We were born with walking shoes. America, we’ll be seeing you Only ever passing through. So I guess we’ll be seeing you We were born with walking shoes I am a blurred-out, background spot in that photo on your wall White Snow – At this moment, monks are in deep meditation somewhere Unaware that cellular phone conversations are

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