[Verse 1] The banners are tattered, the leather is worn, We return to the valley where we were first born. The heat of the desert still clings to the cloak, But we’re calmed by the scent of the peat-fire smoke. The Howell has ledgers of all we have seen, The secrets of kingdoms that stand in between. The Howey has horses, now seasoned and wise, With a different light in their dark, steady eyes. The path to the village is muddy and deep, But these are the promises we had to keep. [Chorus] We’re home to the glen where the stone is still gray, To wash all the dust of the travel away. The ink and the acre are waiting for us, To build back the glory without any fuss. The Howell is planning, the Howey is strong, We know that we’re right and we know we belong. The journey is over, the lesson is learned, We’ve paid for the peace that we honestly earned. [Verse 2] The manor is waiting, the fences are down, We bring back the knowledge of town after town. The Howell is sorting the books on the shelf, Refining the law for the good of itself. The Howey is tending the mares in the stall, Building the strength for the next clarion call. We’ve seen how the world lives and how it expires, We’ve quenched all the burning of desperate fires. Now we turn back to the work in the soil, To bless every minute of honest, hard toil. [Chorus] We’re home to the glen where the stone is still gray, To wash all the dust of the travel away. The ink and the acre are waiting for us, To build back the glory without any fuss. The Howell is planning, the Howey is strong, We know that we’re right and we know we belong. The journey is over, the lesson is learned, We’ve paid for the peace that we honestly earned. [Bridge] The stories we tell by the fire at night, Are filled with the shadows and filled with the light. We are the elders who’ve crossed the great sea, We are the roots of the coming-to-be. The Howell is steady, the Howey is proud, We speak of the future, but never too loud. The world is a tapestry, woven in thread, With the lives of the living and souls of the dead. We are the link in the chain that remains, Free from the shackles and free from the chains. [Verse 3] The seasons are turning, the harvest is near, The Howell and Howey have nothing to fear. We sit in the garden and watch the sun set, The best of the story we haven’t reached yet. The eighth song is finished, the return is complete, With the earth and the clover beneath our tired feet. The ledger is opened to pages that wait, To write the new chapter and seal the new fate. The peace of the valley is all that we crave, The pride of the ancestors, honest and brave. [Chorus] We’re home to the glen where the stone is still gray, To wash all the dust of the travel away. The ink and the acre are waiting for us, To build back the glory without any fuss. The Howell is planning, the Howey is strong, We know that we’re right and we know we belong. The journey is over, the lesson is learned, We’ve paid for the peace that we honestly earned. [Outro] The bagpipes are silenced, the horses are still, A profound, quiet wisdom descends on the hill. The Howell is home, and the Howey is free, As we merge with the soul of the ancient decree. The eighth part is written, the homecoming done, Under the gaze of the setting Welsh sun.
