The Wanderlust Has Got Me... By The

There's A Race Of Men That Don't Fit In, A Race That Can't Sit Still; So They Break The Hearts Of Kith And Kin, And They Roam The World At Will. They Range The Field And Rove The Flood, And They Climb The Mountain's Crest; Their's Is The Curse Of The Gypsy Blood, And They Don't Know How To Rest.

Even Goats May Have Starlight In Their Eyes.

Then You've A Hunch What The Music Meant . . . Hunger And Night And The Stars.

It Isn't The Mountain Ahead That Wears You Out; It's The Grain Of Sand In Your Shoe.

The Happy Man Is He Who Knows His Limitations, Yet Bows To No False Gods.