There's a town in the hills where the autumn burns gold, Where the mill doesn't turn and the coffee grows cold, And a man in a cardigan, quiet and still, Walks the same frozen road, past the same frozen hill. He's got seven sweaters and one scarf of red, A gift from his mother, now six years dead. He counts out his days like the beads on a chain, And he tells himself, this is enough, but it's plain — He's been waiting so long that he's forgotten the rain. There's a man with his hands in the grease and the grime, Two kids and a Dodge that's been broken since... time. He's got a cigarette tucked behind his ear, And a heart he keeps locked in a drawer, out of fear. He was left once before, so he built up a wall, Said, I'm fine on my own, I don't need anyone at all. But he stands at the school gate and stares at the light, At a window that glows in the cold, lonely night — And he doesn't know why, but he can't look away, And he tells himself, this is nothing. Just another day. And the snow starts to fall on the town they both know, Two different roads, but they're walking so slow, And the red scarf is glowing like a fire in the cold — Oh, they've both been so lonely, and they're both getting old, But the heart doesn't care what the calendar says, It just wants what it wants, in its own quiet way. So take my hand, take my hand, take my hand, dear, Let the winter come down, let it freeze all the years, I was lost in the dark, and I thought I was through — But the red scarf, the red scarf, it was leading to you. He walks him to the workshop, they sit on the stool, One talks about engines, the other — of school. And the coffee grows cold, but they don't seem to mind, 'Cause the silence between them is the good, quiet kind. And the teacher, he's never felt this before — A wanting so loud that it shakes the whole floor. He looks at his hands, then he looks at the man, And he thinks, God, I'll do anything. Just take my hand. But he's scared of his father, scared of the town, Scared of the words that would burn the house down. So he swallows it back, like he's done all his life — And he goes home alone, to his books and his knife Of a heart that keeps cutting itself on the truth, While he dreams of a man in the dark, in his second youth. But the mechanic, he's stubborn, he's patient, he's slow, He sees something broken, and he just... doesn't go. He fixes the things that the world threw away — And he thinks, maybe I could fix me, too. Someday. So he holds him on the couch, in the dark, in the night, And he says, I don't know what this is, but it's right. And the teacher, he trembles, but he doesn't pull back, And they lie there together, in the warm, quiet black. And the spring starts to break through the ice and the snow, And the red scarf is faded, but it still seems to glow. Oh, they've both been so lonely, and they're both getting old, But the heart doesn't care what the calendar told. So take my hand, take my hand, take my hand, dear, Let the winter come down, let it freeze all the years, I was lost in the dark, and I thought I was through — But the red scarf, the red scarf, it was leading to you. And the father, he knows. He has always known. He sees the way his son has grown Into someone who's finally, finally not alone. And he says, I don't care who you love, boy. Just don't waste the time. I was hard, and I'm sorry. You were always mine. And the teacher, he cries in his father's old arms, And the old man just holds him, and keeps him from harm. And the mechanic is waiting outside in the truck, With his hands in his pockets, and his heart running amok. And the kids — oh, the kids — they just want him to stay, They set out the chessboard and beg him to play. And the girl, she draws pictures of him in his scarf, And the boy, he says nothing, but he smiles, and that's... enough. And the Dodge, it gets fixed, after thirteen long years, And they drive to the field, and they let down their fears. And the teacher, he says, I want you. Right here. And the mechanic, he answers, Then come here, my dear. And the years roll along like a river, so fast, And the red scarf is folded, in a box, from the past. But the man who once wore it — he's no longer cold, He's got someone to hold him when the nights get old. So take my hand, take my hand, take my hand, dear, Let the seasons all pass, let them turn into years, I was lost in the dark, and I thought I was through — But the red scarf, the red scarf, it was leading to you. And in a small town in Vermont, Where the leaves turn to gold, There's a house with an orchard, And two men growing old. One wears a ring on his finger, One has grease on his hands, And they sit on the porch in the evening — And they finally understand. That the scarf was a promise. That the waiting was worth it. That the love, quiet love, never shouted or cried — It just walked through the snow, And it sat down beside them. And it stayed. Oh, it stayed.
