You sold your guitar for a ticket to Paris,
    Said you packed up your dreams,
    and were going out to find
    some promise in this world

Life dealt you a bad hand
    but at least you can sing,
    but at least you can love

You have your bag of clothes,
    and an empty pocket for change
    Looking for a handout of knowledge
    wisdom not found in books

Your leaving tonight at one in the morning,
    to find a secret; a world,
    that has yet to be born
    a world that exists in a memory

Write me a postcard when you get there
    Send me an e-mail, a quick hello,
    Write me a note on a napkin
    Tell me that you found the world.