It is a never-ending search And if the quest does come to a halt There must be a reason A reason, an answer to be found And that, my dear, that is the start Of a new search Never-ending.
But trust me, I am afraid Scared to death that one day I will have to say “this is it”
I don’t want it to be I long for a might A maybe, a perhaps A reason to search, listen, feel, taste, wonder
A reason to go…
That said, he grabbed his old leather suitcase and took off. On a try to satisfy his boundless need for changing scenes. An impulse junkie. A crusade to cope with the hunger for all that is different. A pilgrimage, looking for those who not only see the world. For those who feel it, live it, change it. For those who are.