Dave Bringhurst
Here’s a story I know about old Bill
Him and his old lady went over the hill
Traded in that life of hearth and home
Disappeared like a rolling stone
Driving a funky old Winnebago
They popped up in San Diego
Settled down, but only for September
It was a time they both would remember
They were home free
On their way to nowhere
With no guarantee
All their baggage left behind
Like space debris
Falling back to earth
As they pushed on down the road
To make new memories
Big sky country, summertime
Albuquerque, winter was fine
Colorful New England in the fall
Springtime California had it all
So many nice places to call home
Bill and his companion were never alone
They realized they never needed stuff
Living in a free country was enough
They became a pair of vagabonds
Stopping here and there in the great beyond
They could feel their home was all the world
A crusty old RV, Bill and his girl
Then one winter Bill took pretty ill
They camped down the road from the hospital
She would come to see him every day
By spring, he had passed away
He was home free
On his way to nowhere
With no guarantee
All his baggage left behind
Like space debris
Falling back to earth
As he pushed on down the road
That became a memory
