Текст Rodney Crowell – The Traveling Kind

We don’t all die young to save our spark
From the ravages of time
But the first and last to leave their mark
Someday become the traveling kind

In the wind are names of poets past
Some were friends of yours and mine
And to those unsung, we lift our glass
May their songs become the traveling kind

We were born to brave this tilted world
With our hearts laid on the line
Be it way-crossed boy or red dirt girl
The song becomes the traveling kind

There are mountains worth their weight in gold
Mere mortals dare not climb
Come ye tipsy, sainted, sinners both
And claim them for the traveling kind

When the music slowly starts to fade
Into the light’s last soft decline
Let us lie down in that evening shade
And rest among the traveling kind

And the song goes on for the traveling kind