Chains
From a poem I wrote a couple decades ago when I was still chained to a desk in a cold office where I could look out the window onto the quad and watch the seasons pass me by.
Lyrics:
There’s a window in my office,
Outside, a piece of sky,
And every day, bound by these chains,
I watch the hours die.
To hear the crisp frost covered leaves,
To wander, free for just a day
Beyond some unknown farmer’s field
I’d aimless make my way.
The wind still knows my name, I swear
It sings in fields of gold
It carries dreams I used to wear,
Before the days grew cold.
Oh, let me roam where time stands still
Before the summer waned
And be again that boy who ran
Down that dusty dirt-road lane.
Somewhere beyond these hallowed halls
Where starlit fences yield
The child I was runs laughing still
Down roads beyond that field.
But the longer that I wait, it seems
The harder comes the choice
Is it time that laughs, or just the wind
In some locomotive voice?
Beyond that field, beyond the pines,
Where the wild grass bends and heals
I left my heart, my breath, my time
Somewhere beyond that field.
The wind still calls my name, I swear
It sings in fields of gold
and carries dreams I used to wear
Before the years grew old
Oh, let me roam those summer days
Before the winter came,
And be again that boy who ran,
Down that dusty dirt-road lane.
And be again that boy who ran,
Down that dusty dirt-road lane.