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 gypsy, 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 --- The Traveling Kind - Rodney Crowell and Emmylou Harris