Quiet Renegade

He sat in the back, sippin’ from his flask, hearing only half what the preacher said
20 time or more, most of the town had given him up for dead
He wasn’t the town drunk, to tell the truth he was sober most of the time
And he wasn’t no bum, you could see him picking up cans to make a dime

Only the old timers knew he was orphaned, that may have made him aloof
Dusty police file report that he was a hell raiser in his youth
Rumor says he once wed a gal from up on Takama Bay
And that he developed a tastе for whiskey when she packеd-up and went away

He a quiet renegade, who everybody knows, but hardly anyone knows his name

The folks down at the diner would leave him something out back
He could have passed for a hobo, when he wandered along the tracks
He'd nod to all the passers by, yet never muttered a thing
And He'd stay seated in the pew when the congregation stood to sing

Then he didn't stop for smokes over at the corner store just like every day
His lunch went cold, his Dusty hat was found along the west highway
His usual park bench was empty, all the town gave him up for dead
The preacher shed a tear, but no ulogy was ever read

He a quiet renegade, who everybody knows,, but hardly anyone knew his name
God bless all the quiet renegades, you know them well even if you never ask them their names