I could write folk songs but you'd remind me they've all been done

If the cost of living where I'd like to be in Belgium is not much different, why do I remain here? I couldn't make anything better here for myself or those around me, I don't have a real role, and with that I am content. It's (very) apparent that I can handle distance from what I'm comfortable with. I didn't want to come home, I very much miss the road with interesting, dear company rolling through every day as each hour brought surprise in whatever amount. My eyes and legs ache to feel every corner I haven't turned yet.

To green and feeding, seething for greening
Figuring foolish feeling
Creepily cruel impeding
and I'd retained 3 reckonings