The Tourist

Just passing through....
I'm packing light with a heavy heart.
They're waiting for me, and I'll someday be waiting for you.
Been given what i need, and not much else.
No lofty degree, no material wealth...
just my soul, my identity, and my bill of health.
I don't speak several languages, and i don't
tango dance.
I wear worn out levis, i don't starch my pants.
I don't belong here, I belong where i'm going...
just a tourist passing through, loving, admiring.
Sure, i have a job, but it's not what I'm for...
just a means to an end, till i'm called for much more.
Not the modern man, not like those in spades...
and i'd love you like they can't if given the chance.
just where i am, and that's where i'll be.
for some reason, in some ryhme....Lord knows I don't.
roads i would travel, but i can't and i won't.
If i stay on this road, and i follow his will,
my destination will be revealed. I know it will.
I travel alone, but I'd love you to come...
just pack light, for we surely will roam.
I can offer only this heart, for that's all i have to give..
but i promise you this, we will truly live.
On a leave of sorts, till the trumpets blow...
and it's in that hour, that you'll truly know...
why i cannot go where some men do, for the time is short,
and i've a job to do.