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.