wayfarers clothes in poetry

the crossroads is where the shoppers stop to gossip
the crossroads is where the bluesmen sell their souls
the crossroads is where the weary lose their bearings
the crossroads is where the whores and beggars stroll
the crossroads is where they built the old gas station
the crossroads is where they talk about in song
the crossroads is rarely a final destination but
the crossroads is where people like us belong
the crossroads is where the winds of change start building
the crossroads is where you see we’re all the same
the crossroads is the realm of bards and braggarts
the crossroads is the only town in game