That free loving gypsy from the island of Crete.
Like the Incredible Hulk wandering to the next town.
His clothes in tatters but his pants stay on.
A smaller King Kong fighting the chains of expectations and labels.
Sometimes the path seems so easy,
And the call of the rose is so clear.
Then the fog obscures it all, doubt settles in.
Where will he go in his gypsy wagon,
That dear boy of mine.
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