The Wanderer’s Quiet Song

Tavern folk song, slow and somber, lute as the main instrument, sung by one male voice

[Verse 1 – soft, almost spoken, like a confession]
I left the Thornwood at the edge of spring,
when the first pale green was on the bough.
I touched my mother’s gravestone, touched my father’s too,
and laid a sprig of new growth on each mound.
The road was wide, the sky was tall,
the wind tasted of salt and of pine—
and every step away from home
took a piece of my heart for its own.
[Verse 2 – a little warmer, but still hushed]
There’s freedom in the morning mist
that no palace wall can ever give,
in the hawk that wheels where no king is,
in the choice of how you’ll live.
But freedom has a hollow sound
when night falls cold and far from kin,
when the stars all wear a stranger’s face
and the road forgets where I’ve been.
[Verse 3 – voice cracks just slightly on the hard memories]
I’ve seen friends fall to blade and flame,
heard the raven call their names too soon.
I’ve carried children from burning towns
beneath a smoke-black, grieving moon.
I’ve held a comrade while he died
and promised him the trees would sing—
then walked away with empty hands
and a heart too heavy for my wings.
[Chorus – slow, aching, everyone sways; let the silence between lines breathe]
Oh the open road will take your youth,
it will give you songs and scars in trade;
it will teach you every kind of truth
and leave you lonely in the glade.
But when the dark feels wide as worlds
and the cold creeps in to stay,
there are voices round the firelight
that will not let you walk away.
[Verse 4 – gentle smile creeping in, voice lifts a little]
So here’s to the ones who share my watch,
who curse my snoring, steal my wine,
who mock my prayers and patch my cloak
and stand with me across the line.
They are not the blood I left behind,
not the roots that hold the Thornwood tall—
yet somehow they have grown inside
the empty space that home once filled.
[Verse 5 – steady and certain, like a vow]
One day I’ll lay my travelling down
beneath the boughs that knew my name,
and the road will roll on without me,
wild and restless, just the same.
But until the Ancients call me home
to sleep beneath the green and gold,
I’ll walk the miles with these loud hearts
who make the lonely places whole.
[Final Chorus – softer still, almost a whisper-prayer; hold the last line until the fire itself seems to listen]
Yes the open road will take your youth,
it will give you songs and scars in trade;
it will teach you every kind of truth
and leave you longing in the glade.
But when the night is wide as grief
and the wind forgets to be kind,
there are four fools who walk with me
and keep the best of home in mind.
So let the road take what it will—
my heart has learned a better way:
the truest home I’ll ever know
is here with them, night and day.
He lets the final chord fade into the embers.

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[Verse 1 – soft, almost spoken, like a confession] I left the Thornwood at the edge of spring, when the first pale green was on the bough. I touched my mother’s gravestone, touched my father’s too, and laid a sprig of new growth on each mound. The road was wide, the sky was tall, the wind tasted of salt and of pine— and every step away from home took a piece of my heart for its own. [Verse 2 – a little warmer, but still hushed] There’s freedom in the morning mist that no palace wall can ever give, in the hawk that wheels where no king is, in the choice of how you’ll live. But freedom has a hollow sound when night falls cold and far from kin, when the stars all wear a stranger’s face and the road forgets where I’ve been. [Verse 3 – voice cracks just slightly on the hard memories] I’ve seen friends fall to blade and flame, heard the raven call their names too soon. I’ve carried children from burning towns beneath a smoke-black, grieving moon. I’ve held a comrade while he died and promised him the trees would sing— then walked away with empty hands and a heart too heavy for my wings. [Chorus – slow, aching, everyone sways; let the silence between lines breathe] Oh the open road will take your youth, it will give you songs and scars in trade; it will teach you every kind of truth and leave you lonely in the glade. But when the dark feels wide as worlds and the cold creeps in to stay, there are voices round the firelight that will not let you walk away. [Verse 4 – gentle smile creeping in, voice lifts a little] So here’s to the ones who share my watch, who curse my snoring, steal my wine, who mock my prayers and patch my cloak and stand with me across the line. They are not the blood I left behind, not the roots that hold the Thornwood tall— yet somehow they have grown inside the empty space that home once filled. [Verse 5 – steady and certain, like a vow] One day I’ll lay my travelling down beneath the boughs that knew my name, and the road will roll on without me, wild and restless, just the same. But until the Ancients call me home to sleep beneath the green and gold, I’ll walk the miles with these loud hearts who make the lonely places whole. [Final Chorus – softer still, almost a whisper-prayer; hold the last line until the fire itself seems to listen] Yes the open road will take your youth, it will give you songs and scars in trade; it will teach you every kind of truth and leave you longing in the glade. But when the night is wide as grief and the wind forgets to be kind, there are four fools who walk with me and keep the best of home in mind. So let the road take what it will— my heart has learned a better way: the truest home I’ll ever know is here with them, night and day. He lets the final chord fade into the embers.

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