Coming Home

27 Nov 2005

The fog rolled up the island it rolled in off the sea
Sat down on my doorstep and beckoned to me
And it curled around my ankles, crawled my ear
Whispered “keep on moving boy” soft and sweet

But I am anchored in still waters I am rooted firm and deep
Will take more than ifs and buts to move these weary feet
I’ve heard these stories all before they’re lies all the same
Time is not a prison and a home is not a grave

There is time to sow and time to reap
Time for war and time for peace
Time to heal, to cast away stones
Time for coming home
Oh yellow moon, autumn sky
I am drifting and dry
Oh golden sun, harvest days
Still my wandering ways

Been a hard and rocky journey but it won’t be long
I’ve got wings of rhythm I’ve got wheels of song
It’s in the falling leaf, the change of seasons
That I have found the courage to belong


Down in the valley chimney smoke holds up the sky
And I’m tired of crossing oceans, states and county lines
I have lived so many places it is easy to know
When I should put some roots down; when I am home