The Kingswood Drifter

Dust on his boots and a song in his head,

The Kingswood drifter, where the wild things are bred.

From the hills to the valleys, he wanders so free,

With a guitar in hand and a heart full of glee.

Oh, the Kingswood drifter, a soul on the wing,

In every small town, he's got a song to sing.

With a voice like the wind and a story to tell,

He's the singer-songwriter who knows life so well.

He's seen the bright lights and the shadows so deep,

Through the long lonely nights when the world is asleep.

He finds beauty in moments, in smiles and in tears,

And weaves them into melodies that echo through years.

Oh, the Kingswood drifter, a soul on the wing,

In every small town, he's got a song to sing.

With a voice like the wind and a story to tell,

He's the singer-songwriter who knows life so well.

He doesn't need riches or fame or renown,

Just a place to belong and a heart to call home.

But the road keeps on calling, and he can't stay for long,

For the Kingswood drifter must follow his song.

Oh, the Kingswood drifter, a soul on the wing,

In every small town, he's got a song to sing.

With a voice like the wind and a story to tell,

He's the singer-songwriter who knows life so well.

So if you see him passing, give him a smile,

And listen to his music for just a little while.

For the Kingswood drifter, he's more than just a man,

He's a poet, a dreamer, with a guitar in his hand.

Kingswood Drifter - Kingswood Recordings

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