Monday, July 01, 2013

And they roam the world at will

An oft posted piece at this fair blog from "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote. As always, thanks Sancho Harranza for that gem:

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that cant stay still; 
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of gypsy blood, and they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight home they might go far;
They are the strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.

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