Even Goats May Have Starlight In Their

The Wanderlust Has Got Me... By The Belly-aching Fire

And Each Forgets, As He Strips And Runs With A Brilliant, Fitful Pace, It's The Steady, Quiet, Plodding Ones Who Win In The Lifelong Race. And Each Forgets That His Youth Has Fled, Forgets That His Prime Is Past, Till He Stands One Day, With A Hope That's Dead, In The Glare Of The Truth At Last.

There's A Race Of Men That Don't Fit In, A Race That Can't Sit Still; So They Break The Hearts Of Kith And Kin, And They Roam The World At Will. They Range The Field And Rove The Flood, And They Climb The Mountain's Crest; Their's Is The Curse Of The Gypsy Blood, And They Don't Know How To Rest.

Carry On! Carry On! Fight The Good Fight And True; Believe In You Mission, Greet Life With A Cheer.

It's The Steady, Quiet, Plodding Ones Who Win In The Lifelong Race.