Learning How To Pray

With a pack of Lucky Strikes and a bucking bronc tattoo on my arm, early one morning I walked a mile to the road, hitched a ride and left the farm- I was only 17. Not much money, kinda green, but I had more dreams than my head could hold, I knew I had to leave before my heart grew up, cold and old- I just felt I had to go away, try to find the words I needed to say, see the sun, listen to the wind, and learn how to pray- Spent a few years here and there, tried everything, went everywhere; saw the inside of the country, for better or for worse; learned how to work, how to hurt and how to curse- But, sooner or later a man gets tired, from searching for answers to questions he doesn't know, comes a time he finds he's just got to up and grow- So I left the road and layed down the dream, got a job, a wife and a house, the whole "do-what's-right-scene"- The years came and went, before I could blink, half my life was spent; now here, with age, I find those old questions coming back to mind; I'm way past 17 now, never could hold onto money, but those old dreams all remain somehow. It may sound funny, but I find myself looking down the road, thinking again, about getting up to go; one more time, just go away, try to find those words, I still need to say, see the sun... listen to the wind, and finally, truly learn how to pray...