| We don’t all die young to save our spark
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| From the ravages of time
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| But the first and last to leave their mark
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| Someday become the traveling kind
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| In the wind are names of poets past
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| Some were friends of yours and mine
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| And to those unsung, we lift our glass
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| May their songs become the traveling kind
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| We were born to brave this tilted world
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| With our hearts laid on the line
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| Be it way-crossed boy or red dirt girl
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| The song becomes the traveling kind
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| There are mountains worth their weight in gold
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| Mere mortals dare not climb
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| Come ye tipsy, sainted, sinners both
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| And claim them for the traveling kind
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| When the music slowly starts to fade
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| Into the light’s last soft decline
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| Let us lie down in that evening shade
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| And rest among the traveling kind
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| And the song goes on for the traveling kind |