Texty: Frank Turner. Poetry Of The Deed. Journey Of The Magi.

Moses was old, a chill in his bones.
Falling apart, he knew in his heart that his time had come.
As he lay in his tent in the hot desert sands,
he smiled at how he would never see his promised land.
He sang "I could have lived and died an Egyptian prince,
I could have played safe,
but in the end the journey's brought joys that outweigh the pain."
Odysseus sat tired and alone.
He'd always held out against all the doubts that he would come home.
But now he was here, his soul felt estranged.
His wife and his dog, his son and his Gods, everything changed.
He sang "I could have stayed and ruled as an Ithican prince,
I could've played safe.
But in the end the journey's brought joys that outweigh the pain."
Balthazar rode for seven long years, eastwards and far,
he followed his star, and it brought him here.
To a stable in ruins in some backwater town,
to a virgin defiled, no king but a child, too small for a crown.
He sang "I could have lived with my Gods as a Persian prince,
I could've played safe,
but in the end the journey's brought joys that outweigh the pain."
Paupers and kings, princes and thieves,
singers of songs, righters of wrongs, be what you believe.
So saddle your horse and shoulder your load,
burst at the seams, be what you dream, and take to the road.