|
In my heart I will wait |
|
by the stony gate |
|
and the little one |
|
in my arms will sleep. |
|
Every rising of the moon |
|
makes the years grow late |
|
and the love in our hearts will keep. |
|
There are friends I will make |
|
and bonds I will break |
|
as the seasons roll by |
|
and we build our own sky. |
|
In my heart I will wait |
|
by the stony gate |
|
and the little one |
|
in my arms will sleep. |
|
|
|
And the stars in your sky |
|
are the stars in mine |
|
and both prisoners |
|
of this life are we. |
|
Through the same troubled waters |
|
we carry our time, |
|
you and the convicts and me. |
|
There's a good thing to know |
|
on the outside or in, |
|
to answer not where |
|
but just who I am. |
|
Because the stars in your sky |
|
are the stars in mine |
|
and both prisoners |
|
of this life are we. |
|
|
|
And the hills that you know |
|
will remain for you |
|
and the little willow green |
|
will stand firm. |
|
The flowers that we planted |
|
through the seasons past |
|
will all bloom |
|
on the day you return. |
|
To a baby at play |
|
all a mother can say, |
|
he'll return on the wind |
|
to our hearts, and till then |
|
I will sit and I'll wait |
|
by the stony gate |
|
and the little one |
|
'neath the trees will dance. |
