I originally intended this son to be a straight-ahead minor blues, but the lyric fought with it, turning it into a mixolydian shuffle.
Trudging down this dusty road, there's no end in sight.
Wish I had somewhere I could go, a place to stay tonight.
Once again I'll put my faith in invisible means of support.
Just my guitar on my back, to keep me company.
I've fallen further now than flat: broke would look good to me.
I've come to appreciate invisible means of support.
Hay-mown hospitality, fresh-baked bread from a farmer's wife,
Smiles from strangers in the street: little things that save my life.
Don't wanna catch the Sherrif's eye, get pulled in for vagrancy.
I'll keep to the lanes and byways, no county farm for me!
You know I've learned to rely on invisible means of support.
So I'll keep trudging down this road, with no end in sight.
No particular place to go, but that'll be alright.
I'll stick to what I know: invisible means of support.