The storm is coming down & the radio is dead
the old tin cans fill the endless carousel like kings of the road
& nothing is what it seems through the blurry misted glass
stuck back at this crossroads facing up to my Past
There's a mystic light that's shining white
& warms my worn out frame
it beckons to the Eastern path
& through the blinding rain, it calls to me again
So I turn the wheel into the rising Sun
locked to the line of a journey to what may come
Throwing the map on the back seat, I trust in shadow play
foot down on the throttle - I pull away
There's no horizon, no sheltering trees
as the cross hair mind forces me onwards
with dust bowl dreams of water
& of comfort...
& of company…
& of rest again
Home - This is the last stop on the road of life
Going Home - Cancel the meetings you organised
Hands are pressing greetings now
I recognise their shapes
we walk down the Golden Highway - no ticker tape!
Back street houses opening doors
tiny windows to their soul
Pulled along in the flow & the rush of the wind as we go
It’s a little bit funny now, as I hear familiar songs
Brushing off the cobwebs, in the corners where they belong
Cataloguing fragrances & the objects that I feel
to separate my monsters from the thoughts that are not real
Welcome Home - Gentle soldier, place that rifle down...
Welcome Home - the War is over!
The cavalry returned & the lessons have all been learned
No more fear of casualty now
the old life is stripped away
onto the final homecoming with no parades!
Family houses have opened their doors
to usher me alone
Pulled along in the flow & lost in the wind as I go
Welcome Home - Gentle soldier, the white dove will arise
Welcome Home - your pain is over
Your friends have all returned & the battlefields have burned
The ticking clocks are slowing now
to meet a new born pace
we float on the clouds of remembrance, full of grace!
Supported by their comforting arms
Old memories wipe away
Watching over the show, the hush of the ghosts as they go