THE JOURNEYMAN
(and so he runs)

Lyrics written and owned by Chantele Delaine

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(Dedicated to Dr. Who)

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Can you see in your mind

A motionless prisoner

In the dark, blind

Can you can perceive through frozen fears

His knowing

He’s imprisoned himself for years

Those abstract dials

Static turnstiles

And untraveled miles

To places yet not lived

And so he runs

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Can you taste the stirs of his soul

Restraints about him crumble away

There is more he wants to know

Imagine the pain in his feet

And he runs with certainty

That standing means defeat

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Can you hear voices of his new world

As they sing to him their song

Harpsichords and pearls

Imagine you feel the rhythm of his beat

As to their song he now sings along

So comfortable he takes a seat

Those magic nights

Lit by candle light

Fed the candied life

Forgetting where he’s been

So busy having fun

That he forgot to run

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Can you smell the fragrance of debris

The waste of untapped motion

During his opalescent fantasies

Can you perceive the taste of near defeat

Those places where he’s hanging around

Are gallows made from his self-deceit

Those magic knives

Carving out abject lies

Cutting off tragic cries

In there worth in what he's seen?

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You can't separate the journeyman from his soul

He's got ideals and he's got goals

He needs foreign lands not apple trees

Cause standing still breeds apathy

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And so he runs runs

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Can you see in your mind

A liberated prisoner

Who runs from going blind

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And so he runs

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