The Folk Singer

As I walk these narrow streets
 Where a million passing feet have tried before me
 
 With my guitar in my hand suddenly I realize nobody knows me
 
 Where yesterday the multitude screamed and cried my name out for a song
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 The day the streets are empty and the crowds have all gone home
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 I pass a million houses, but there is no place where I belong
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 All I knew to give it was song after song after song
 
 All the truth I try to tell you were as distant to you as the moon
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 Born 200 years too late and 200 years too soon
 
 I'm a child of this age, locked inside the pages of your book
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 And when I am but dust and clay and other children stop take look
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 Well they marble at the miracles I did before them
 And to the heights I did inspired
 
 Or will they tear out the pages of the book to light a fire
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 With the rain on my face there is no place where I belong
 Did you forget the folk singer so soon?
 And did you forget my song?