Perhaps the greatest charm of tramp-life is the absence of monotony. In Hobo Land the face of life is protean—an ever changing phantasmagoria, where the impossible happens and the unexpected jumps out of the bushes at every turn of the road. The hobo never knows what is going to happen the next moment; hence, he lives only in the present moment. He has learned the futility of telic endeavor, and knows the delight of drifting along with the whimsicalities of Chance

Du hattest immer die Idee, ich meine gib sie nicht auf. Du willst mehr von der Welt seh'n, leb' deinen Traum. Ich wach auf mit schweren Herzen und hör dich beim Duschen sing'n. Und ich will nicht der sein der dich zum Flughafen bringt, Ich seh' wie sich andre umarmen in der Schlange am Check-in Die Anzeigetafel, dein Flug, die Buchstaben wechseln. Menschen die hetzen, die wie du alle bald weg sind..." "You always had that certain idea.. i mean.. don't give up on it! You want to see more of this world, live your dream. I wake up heavy-hearted and can hear you singing in the shower. and i don't wanna be the one driving you to the airport. I see others hugging at the check-in.. The destinationboard, your flight, the letters are changing. People who are hurrying, who -just like you- will be gone soon...

Still too young to fail, too scared to sail away But one of these days I'll grow old. And I'll grow brave and I'll go. One of these days.. Blowing out the candles from my cake I choke on the smoke as I look around the room Everybodys wishing for no more mistakes And all that I can think about is (...)

I sit here drunk now. I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here without committing murder or being murdered; without having ended up in the madhouse. as I drink alone again tonight my soul despite all the past agony thanks all the gods who were not there for me then.