The Wanderer's Warning

I'm riding along on a freight train,
Bound for nobody knows where.
I ran off from home just this morning,
My heart was heavy with care.

I quarreled with my old father,
Because of the thing I had done.
He called me a drunkard and a gambler,
Not fit to be called his son.

I cursed and swore at my father,
And told him his words were a lie.
I packed all my things in a bundle,
And went to tell mother goodbye.

My poor mother broke down a-crying,
"Son, oh my son, don't leave -
Your poor mothers heart will be broken,
And all my life long, I will grieve."

She kissed me and called me her darling,
And around me her arms she did throw.
I'll never forget that sad parting,
As I said, "Mother dear, I must go."

As I ride along on this freight train,
My mother's voice I can hear,
Crying, "Oh son, don't leave me,
It's more than my poor heart can bear."

I know she'll be there by the window,
Day after day as I roam,
Watching and waiting and praying,
For her boy, who will never come home.

So boys, take this wanderer's warning,
And don't break your poor mother's heart.
Stay by her side - she will need you,
And let nothing take you apart.