The Tourist - Walter Martin

Now the boy is old

And the world weighs on his shoulders

One by one the tall ships come

And sail us slow into that sinking sun

Oh but I’ve seen the pretty scenes

They put in books and magazines

The pictures on my wall they say it all

They tell the tales I can’t recall

And these photographs of tourist traps

Well, they are alas all that I’ll leave behind

But hell, that’s fine

And now I find myself going through those books upon my shelf

And flipping through this book of shots I took

I saw the world, here, have a look