I'm without a place, yes.
I may be stinky and grungy all day.
But my smile still looks good, I really must say.
There's a storage unit in a car
with my name on it not too far.
Bags upon bags of toiletries and clothes,
of which my mind secretly loathes.
There is nothing so special about any of those things,
they are just materials that life continually brings.
Not having a place to call "home" is different though,
I'm positively certain that some of you know.
At the end of a long day,
you just want to play.
Your mind wants to settle,
on that hot water kettle.
My toes and my feet,
aren't smelling so sweet.
My hair and my knees
are smelling like peas.
I don't have a bed,
but I won't end up dead.
I don't have a room,
but I don't see my doom.
I don't have water or food,
But that ain't so crude.
I have my heart so content and full,
That my eyes you'll never ever see dull.
People ask me what's it like,
and I tell them my life is at a turnpike.
All in my head during the day,
I can't help thinking what if it stayed this way?
Friends of strength and friends of passion,
These ones you know, don't wear out of fashion.
They move me and house me,
With not one word of a repayment fee.
My guitar is so cold,
in that car so I'm told.
There's mosquitos settling in,
but for them there's no din.
I'm homeless you see,
but that can't really be.
I blessed and I'm cherished,
but I'm not yet perished.
I can be smelly and gritty,
and still look pretty.
I could lose all of my stuff,
and frankly not give a huff.
I'm homeless, you know
but still have plenty of places to go.
I'm just in transition,
So check what I'm dishin.
