A breeze stirs the grass,
wakes a memory from the past.
Roots twist and turn.
The light from a torch upon the ground.
A voice is calling me home.
wakes a memory from the past.
Roots twist and turn.
The light from a torch upon the ground.
A voice is calling me home.
Time slips and slides.
Words are jumping out of rhyme.
The record starts again.
I know every single line,
and a voice is calling me home.
Years piling up.
A dusty room, a broken clock,
books that won’t be read.
It doesn’t matter cos I know
that a voice is calling me home.
I’m Going home,
yeah I’m going home,
whoooo I’m going home.
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