As I walk these narrow streets   Where a million passin' feet are before me   With my guitar in my hand   Suddenly I realize nobody knows me      Well, yesterday the motor toots screamed   And cried my name out for a song   Now the streets are empty   And the crowds they go on home      With the rain on my face   There's no place where I belong   And my whole life consists of a story   Of poem at a song      Now the truths I've tried to tell you   Are as distant as the moon   More than hundred years too late   Two hundred years too soon      I'm a child of the sage   Lord's been in the pages of a book   But when I'm dust and clay   Where other people stop and to look      And will they marvel and miracles   And perform into the high size to the spider   Oh, will they take the pages of the book to light of fire?      With the rain on my face   There's no place where I belong