I knew this place, I knew it well,
every sound and every smell,
And every time I walked I fell
for the first two years or so.
There across the grassy yard,
I a young boy runnin' hard.
Brown and bruised and battle
scarred and lost in sweet illusion.
From my window I can see
the fingers of an ancient tree.
Reaching out it calls to me
to climb its surly branches.
But all my climbing days are gone
And these tired legs I'm standin' on
would scarcely dare to leave the spot upon
which they are standin'.
And I remember every word
from every voice I ever heard,
Every frog and every bird,
Yes, this is where it starts.
A brother's laugh, the sighing wind,
this is where my life begins.
This is where I learned to use my
hands and hear my heart.
This house is old, it carries on
like lyrics to an old time song,
Always changed but never gone,
this house can stand the seasons.
Our lives pass on from door to door,
dust upon the wooden floor,
Feather rain and thunder roar,
we need not know the reason.
And all these thoughts come back to
me like ships across a friendly sea,
Like breezes blowing endlessly,
like rivers running deep.
The day is done. The lights are low,
the wheels of life are turning slow
And as these visions turn and go,
I lay me down to sleep.
