Walter Martin The Tourist
[Verse]
Now the boy is old
And the world weighs on his shoulders
One by one the tall ships come
And sail us slow into that sinking sun
Oh but I've seen the pretty scenes
They put in books and magazines
The pictures on my wall they say it all
They tell the tales I can't recall
And these photographs of tourist traps
Well, they are alas all that I'll leave behind
But hell, that's fine
And now I find myself going through those books upon my shelf
And flipping through this book of shots I took
I saw the world, here, have a look