Song from Long Ago
He walks the winding steps that lead to home
Another tragic TV scene, another night alone
The paper reads the same, all bloody news
Why do they have to write those things, there's no excuse

He voices out opinions to the walls
His voice is like an echo, it carries to the hall
He doesn't get an answer and silence fills the air
Because there's no one there

The almanac says rain is coming soon
There hasn't been a drop since late last June
The corn is burned, the beans are looking bad
It hasn't been the same since mom and dad

I know I should have married long ago
But this house is where I've always lived, it's all I've come to know
It's hard to find a reason for all the things you do
When they look back at you

He used to play the fiddle in his youth
He used to whittle whistles and tell the truth
And he loved to fill the empty sky with dreams
And color it with rainbows and crazy schemes
And now he climbs the sloping attic stairs
To find himself his fiddle and a chair
He's tuning up his childhood and now he's playing low
A song from long ago