The loaded Cart

Down the dirty path I go,

Through pouring rain and driving snow.
Loaded down, and old and slow,
Down the dirty path I go.





I carry memories, I carry thoughts.
Dusty rugs, old trunks, and pots.
I carry things arcoss all lots,
These memories and forgotten thoughts.





A cart's a cart, and that's what I am,
Creaking, rocking across the land.
Gritty and brown from the dust and sand,
Think of me as a helping hand.





Times are tough, family's on the move.
They've got nothing left, so there's nothing to lose.
War changes things, that's old news,
So they head on out, in tattered shoes.



I see the sun rise and set.
Somehow, some way, we'll get there yet.
Sometimes it's dry, sometimes it's wet.
And still the sun rises and sets.





Down the dirty path I go.
Stakes are high, and the grub is low.
We're a tired lot, and I guess it shows
But still, on down the path we go.