As I walk these narrow streets, where a million passing feet have trod before me
With my guitar in my hand, suddenly I realize nobody knows me
Where yesterday the multitude 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 try to tell you are as distant as the moon
And a hundred years too late, two hundred years too soon
I'm a child of this age, locked in the pages of a book
But when I'm dust and clay, will other people stop to take a look?
And will they marvel at the miracles I've performed, 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
And I'm a child of this age, locked in the pages of a book

And will they marvel at the miracles I've performed?
And will they tear the pages from the book to light a fire?
I'm a child of this age, locked in the pages of a book
But when I'm dust and clay, will other people stop to take a look?
you