The Pilgrim, Chapter 33

See him wasted on the sidewalk
In his jacket and his jeans
Wearing yesterday's misfortunes like a smile
Once he had a future full of money, love and dreams
Which he spent like they was going out of style
Then he keeps right on a changing
For the better or the worse
Searching for a shrine he's never found
Never knowing if believing is a blessing or a curse
Or if the going up was worth the coming down
He's a poet
He's a picker
He's a prophet
He's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher and a problem when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction
Partly truth and partly fiction
Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home
He has tasted good and evil in your bedrooms and your bars
And he's traded in tomorrow for today
Running from his devils, lord
Reaching for the stars
Losing all his loves along the way
But if this world keeps right on turning
For the better or the worse
All he ever gets is older and around
From the rocking of the cradle
To the rolling of the hearse
The going up was worth the coming down
He's a poet
He's a picker
He's a prophet
He's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher and a problem when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction
Partly truth and partly fiction
Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home
There's a lot of wrong directions on that lonely way back home