Out on the highways and the by-ways all alone
I'm still searching for, searching for my home
Up in the morning, up in the morning out on the road
And my head is aching and my hands are cold
And I'm looking for the silver lining, silver lining in the clouds
And I'm searching for and
I'm searching for the philosophers stone
And it's a hard road, Its a hard road daddy-o
I'm on the road again and I'm searching for
The philosophers stone
Can you hear that engine
Woe can you hear that engine drone
Well I'm on the road again and I'm searching for
Searching for the philosophers stone
Apparently I no longer know where to call home. Alaska, as far as Homer is concerned, isn't it. We prefer the lush richness of Sitka and the rainforest there, but as yet, can't live on such a small island for very long. So, no more pronouncements on where I belong. Maybe I don't belong anywhere. As the song says (thanks to Van Morrison's "Philosopher's Stone"), I'm on the road again and searching...
Peace my friends!
