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Folk Singer
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Glen Campbell
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1
As I walk these narrow streets where a million passin' feet are before me
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With my guitar in my hand suddenly I realize nobody knows me
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Well yesterday the motor toots screamed and cried my name out for a song
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Now the streets are empty and the crowds they go on home
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With the rain on my face there's no place where I belong
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And my whole life consists of a story of poem at a song
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Now the truths I've tried to tell you are as distant as the moon
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More than hundred years too late two hundred years too soon
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I'm a child of the sage Lord's been in the pages of a book
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But when I'm dust and clay where other people stop and to look
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And will they marvel and miracles and perform into the high size to the spider
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Oh will they take the pages of the book to light of fire
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With the rain on my face there's no place where I belong
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