by John Prine There was a songs. Down through the years, many men have yearned for freedom. Some found it only on the open road. So many tears of blood have filled around them; 'Cause you can't alway do what you are told. Please tell me where, have all the hobos gone to. I see no light a'burning down by the rusty railroad tracks. Could it be, that time has gone and left them, Tied up in life's eternal travelling sack. Last Sunday night, I wrote a letter to my loved one. I signed my name a (allcountrytabs.com)