[Intro – two fiddles, wooden flute, hand drum] [Verse 1] I came along the western road with dust upon my shoes, a coat, a pack, a little bread, and nothing left to lose. I meant to cross the village square and sleep beneath the trees, but someone struck a fiddle tune that stopped me with the breeze. [Verse 2] Lanterns hung from wooden beams, the harvest tables shone, children chased the fireflies while old men sang along. A girl stood laughing by the gate and called, “You walk too slow. If you've enough strength left to leave, you've strength enough to go.” [Chorus] Where the fiddles meet the dawn, where the lanterns carry on, stamp the earth and turn around, let your weary feet find ground. I have followed every road, carried every mile alone. But where the fiddles meet the dawn, maybe I have found my home. [Instrumental – lively twin fiddles and wooden flute] [Verse 3] A farmer pushed a cup my way, his wife brought bread and stew. Nobody asked me where I'd been or what I'd wandered through. They simply made another place and pulled another chair. It's strange how little room it takes to show a man you care. [Pre-Chorus] So I laid my old pack down beside the garden wall. For once I wasn't listening for another road to call. [Chorus] Where the fiddles meet the dawn, where the lanterns carry on, stamp the earth and turn around, let your weary feet find ground. I have followed every road, carried every mile alone. But where the fiddles meet the dawn, maybe I have found my home. [Bridge – music softens, solo fiddle] The stars grew pale above the fields. The lantern flames burned low. She found me sitting by the gate with nowhere left to go. “You're leaving with the morning?” I looked toward the eastern sky. “No.” [Instrumental – fiddle melody returns, gradually joined by the full ensemble] [Final Chorus] Where the fiddles meet the dawn, where the final stars are gone, stamp the earth and turn around, sometimes home is simply found. Let the old road carry on. It can travel there alone. Where the fiddles meet the dawn... I think I'll stay and see what grows. [Outro – fiddle, flute, quiet laughter in the distance] Morning touched the village roofs. My pack remained beside the wall.
