Eyes filled with wonder, hair spun to silver
He keeps on courting the muse.
With his lady beside him, bundle-stiff troubadours
Dancing in vagabond shoes.

With a banjo and a fiddle, squeeze a joke in the middle
They'll sing 'till the last story's told.
Visions of wanderlust, lives built on love and trust
Singing a song down a long Texas road.

CHORUS:
Like miners of old, they're panning for gold
Hoping for fortune and fame.
Searching the night for a bright neon light,
Like a moth flies in to a flickering flame.

In the daytime she stands at the head of the courtroom
At night she sings for the bar.
She closes her eyes as the spirit inside
Takes flight on an old Guild guitar.

Shackled by law books, files and papers
Imprisoned by wardens of time.
She gets her pardon from a musical garden
Stolen moments in a kingdom of rhyme.

CHORUS

He just blew in on the winds of Chicago
Hoboing a fast airplane
His day job went south now he's filling his drought
Selling the songs that he sings.

Gamblers, crap shooters who'll take all or nothing
Why, it's hard to explain.
This gypsy king poet will try don't you know it
Win, lose or draw, just to stay in the game.

CHORUS

This song was inspired by my first trip to the Kerville Folk Festival in Texas. It is dedicated to all the singer/song writers who travel the highways singing their songs, while Panning For Gold.