Pocket Picker

Picked a couple pockets that night in Italy

It was just enough to get by for a

vagrant refugee

You were trading a few stories about where you all would be

When you’re only twenty-one I guess all the world is green

You were dreaming of a highway on an endless stretch of land

Said “Soon I’ll be a trucker, boys that’s the only plan

And I have heard in Canada, every woman she is blonde

One is waiting for me there, so it’s best I move along”

Feel the heat of the gun

There are no thoughts

You just run

Say “Hello world, I’m coming for ya”

Took the big wheels in and traded out the caravan

You were taken by the language but they were always making fun

Back home they did the same thing when you used your mothers tongue

If you make an honest dollar it don’t matter where you live

After you buy the bread someone

syphons off the rest

Feel the heat of the gun

There are no thoughts

You just run

Say “Hello world, I’m coming for ya”

Took the big wheels in and traded out the caravan

Took the big wheels in and traded out the caravan

Floating in the eddy as the river moves along

Did just what you said still you’re barely getting on