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When I build my home, |
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That I shall have some day; |
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It'll be like I want it |
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Oh - and I mean that in every way. |
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I have yet to see any |
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That would cope with the style - |
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Of the house that I dream of; |
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That I'll build after a while. |
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The roof of it will have peak lines, |
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And contours that dip; |
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And form shadowy eaves, |
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Where the little raindrops can drip. |
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... That sweet pitter patter, |
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Of raindrops at play - |
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Is such a beautiful sound |
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On a quiet gloomy day. |
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You know, when the wind is high, |
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And the storm gods race, |
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And I'll be snugged up |
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By my fire-place. |
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Maybe feeding my little dog, |
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Or playing with my little cat. |
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But unconsciously yearning, |
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And wonderin' where you're at. |
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But when the meadow is shadowed |
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By that old sinking sun; |
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And the roses are bowing |
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For the dew drops to come; |
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At my old upright piano, |
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With pure ivory keys, |
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I'll just plunk out some vibrations |
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Of whatever I please. |
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Sometimes it'll be classics, |
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Sometimes lullabies; |
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But mostly rock n' roll |
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- that I'll surely improvise. |
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And with my favourite guitar, |
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I'll be just strummin' away |
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And bidding goodbye, |
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To another beautiful day. |
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A portrait of my angel, |
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That I love most of all - |
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I'll have painted from a snapshot |
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Onto my bedroom wall. |
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Where the suns warm rays, |
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And the moon's cold beam |
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Will cast her reflection, |
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As I lay there and dream. |
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You know, I can't deny |
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- but it makes me so sad, |
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When I think that I've lost |
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All that I could have had. |
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It was best for her - |
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And I guess I, I know; |
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That she measured my love - |
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And then asked me to go. |
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Then Finally my house, |
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I will have it complete. |
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And I'll take up a smoke, |
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Sitting by the window sill. |
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And I'll read my many books |
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That I'll have in my bachelors nest; |
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While the sun goes drooping |
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- down in the west. |
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And I'll feel that gold, |
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Warm light on my face; |
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And then I'll start trippin' |
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To some far off place. |
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That through all of my travels, |
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I must have missed somewhere - |
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A place that I might find |
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My angel someday. |
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And I'll leave all that I have |
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To the gods, up above; |
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And go spend my life searching |
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For the angel, that I love. |
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For all of my dreams, |
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Would be but a souvenir; |
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Compared to the one |
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That I love so dear. |
