HOME TO YOU
(©Words and Music by Paul F. Cowlan)
Largely written behind the wheel during an overnight drive from northern Jutland to Frankfurt; this song is for Gabriele. Dont quote me on the precise mileage but everything else can be taken literally.
Six hundred miles, and I drove right through.
I know thats a thing that you shouldnt do
and I wouldnt make a habit of it, but I knew
I had to get home to you.
So I kept my wheels in the outside lane,
though the road was slick and windy and bright with rain.
If youre in a hurry to be home again
the nights the time to drive.
Thats another tour done, and I wont forget
the times Ive seen and the folks Ive met.
Theres plenty of life in the old dog yet,
but I had to get home to you.
When Im acting lonesome, with a view
to making my mark on a heart or two
I say, “My home is on the road.” But thats not true.
Home is here with you.
And when I think of all the places we have seen,
together and apart and in between,
I start to realise how much they mean,
and I want to get home to you.
The Past is how you fake it,
and the Futures how you take it,
but the Presents what you make it.
Or so they say.
Meanwhile the world spins round,
chasing my shadow from town to town.
Im so bone-weary I could just lie down
and sleep till Judgement Day.
So pack those boxes, load that van,
fill in the paper, get your money from the man;
then shake off the dust as soon as you can
and follow the first road home.
Whoever you are a lot depends
on health and freedom, good luck and friends.
And I dont give a damn where the white line ends
if it leads me home to you.