Travelling

Travelling the road,Last known is where I want to beMy compass directing, electing,An open road with golden treesBut there's an old man in need on the ground,try not to make a soundHe holds out his hand as I walk away,I hear him sayPlease don't be a stranger in my placeTravelling come to a tavern for a momentary restI see the old manThat I passed on the road in his distressAs I turned to go I can hear him say,"Son, stay. Have a drink, I'll pay."Let bygones be gone,It's all in the past,We raise a glassPlease don't be a stranger in my placeWhat if I could be what you wanted me to beWhat if I could see what you wanted me to seeCome on and show mePlease don't be a stranger in my place