Holy Smoke

I sigh with every breath I’m breathing
It’s some kind of holy smoke that I believe
Will take me on my way
Some hobo — the dust on my old boots is settling
And I’m slowly growing roots I said
Would never tidy me away
Uhoh, uhoh, uhoh, uhoh
I do remember what an old friend told me
He said «don't you go worrying about me
I’m only sad as I want to be»
Well that’s as maybe, but do I want to be like trees
Who stand round in freezing fog just waiting
For the spring to come for me?
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh noo