Lied "The folk singer" (Johnny Cash)

Liedtitel	The folk singer
Titelcode	{{{titelcode}}}
Musikautor	Johnny Cash
Bearbeiter	{{{bearbeiter}}}
Textautor	Johnny Cash
Herausgeber

The folk singer

As I walk these narrow streets where a million passin' feet have trod before me
With my guitar in my hand suddenly I realize nobody knows me
Well yesterday the multitudes screamed and cried my name out for a song
Now the streets are empty and the crowds they've all gone home

With the rain on my face there's no place where I belong
And my whole life consists of a story, a poem, and a song
Now the truths I've tried to tell you are as distant as the moon
Born a hundred years too late two hundred years too soon

I'm a child of this age, lost in the pages of a book
But when I'm dust and clay will other people stop and take a look
And will they marvel at the miracles I perform and to the heights I aspire
Or will they tear the pages from the book to light a fire

With the rain on my face there's no place where I belong