Billy Dyer

Billy Dyer was a postcard writer Traveling the whole world 'round Sent letters to his folks To tell them all about The things that he found I never met him but it sure upset me When I heard Billy was gone Billy Dyer must have lit a fire Somewhere deep in my bones My mother Mildred raised some mighty fine children There were seven in all Despite my education And the way my mother raised me Lord, I still heard the call When I set out on the road No one told me just how lonely I'd be Or of the time I would waste Trying to raise enough change To pay the cost of being free Let your legs go where they'll go Let your heart roam Home is never home For the children of the road I tried to write but couldn't justify All of the mistakes that I'd made So instead of writing letters I figured postcards would better Keep demons at bay Never revealing the regret I was feeling For not facing my fears Only places on a map And some writing on the back That said "Wish you were here." Let your legs go where they'll go Let your heart roam Home is never home For the children of the road If home is where the heart is What if your heart's broken If sorry's where the start is What if it's unspoken One day the road may bring me back to you Mother Mildred raised some mighty fine children There were seven in all But because of Billy Dyer One fell in the fire Trying to stand up too tall