Going Home

(Verse 1)
I’ve wandered far on roads of stone,
Where iron rain and shadow fell,
Carried light in hands of bone
Through nights that tasted black as hell.
I’ve faced the blight that eats the dawn,
Heard mountains break and rivers scream,
Yet every step, though hope was gone,
Drew me back to this living dream.
(Verse 2)
Some voices I will never hear
Beneath the moon or morning dew;
Their laughter scattered with the year,
Their footprints filled with yester-blue.
I laid them down in quiet glades
Where roots drink deep of grief and rain,
And left my tears among the shades
So something green might grow again.
(Chorus)
But oh, I’m coming home, I’m coming home,
Where the Thornwood arches wide and high,
The old boughs know me, leaf and loam,
They sing my name across the sky.
Let sorrow fade in drums of green,
Let every scar become a song;
I’m coming home where I’ve always been—
The Forest kept me all along.
(Verse 3)
The war-songs hush, the steel grows cold,
The sparrow takes the raven’s place;
Moss stitches silver into gold
Across the wounds upon my face.
The ancient ones lean close and sigh,
“Lay down your oath of blade and pain;
Here joy and grief together lie
Like acorns sleeping till the rain.”
(Chorus)
Oh, I’m coming home, I’m coming home,
Where the Thornwood arches wide and high,
The old boughs know me, leaf and loam,
They sing my name across the sky.
Let sorrow fade in drums of green,
Let every scar become a song;
I’m coming home where I’ve always been—
The Forest kept me all along.
(Verse 4)
So pour the mead of berry and pine,
Let fiddles weep and laughter leap;
We’ll dance beneath the tangled vine
For hearts that wake and hearts that sleep.
And when my final ember dims,
Let Thornwood claim what it once gave—
I’ll rise again in greening limbs
And murmur welcome from the grave.
(Final Chorus (louder, faster, voices rising with the wind in the needles))
Oh, I’m coming home, I’m coming home,
Where the wild light drips from thorn to thorn,
Though half my road was walked alone,
The other half was never torn.
Beat the drum and wake the strings—
Every loss has turned to wing;
I’m coming home where the greenheart sings,
And the Ancients teach me everything.

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(Verse 1) I’ve wandered far on roads of stone, Where iron rain and shadow fell, Carried light in hands of bone Through nights that tasted black as hell. I’ve faced the blight that eats the dawn, Heard mountains break and rivers scream, Yet every step, though hope was gone, Drew me back to this living dream. (Verse 2) Some voices I will never hear Beneath the moon or morning dew; Their laughter scattered with the year, Their footprints filled with yester-blue. I laid them down in quiet glades Where roots drink deep of grief and rain, And left my tears among the shades So something green might grow again. (Chorus) But oh, I’m coming home, I’m coming home, Where the Thornwood arches wide and high, The old boughs know me, leaf and loam, They sing my name across the sky. Let sorrow fade in drums of green, Let every scar become a song; I’m coming home where I’ve always been— The Forest kept me all along. (Verse 3) The war-songs hush, the steel grows cold, The sparrow takes the raven’s place; Moss stitches silver into gold Across the wounds upon my face. The ancient ones lean close and sigh, “Lay down your oath of blade and pain; Here joy and grief together lie Like acorns sleeping till the rain.” (Chorus) Oh, I’m coming home, I’m coming home, Where the Thornwood arches wide and high, The old boughs know me, leaf and loam, They sing my name across the sky. Let sorrow fade in drums of green, Let every scar become a song; I’m coming home where I’ve always been— The Forest kept me all along. (Verse 4) So pour the mead of berry and pine, Let fiddles weep and laughter leap; We’ll dance beneath the tangled vine For hearts that wake and hearts that sleep. And when my final ember dims, Let Thornwood claim what it once gave— I’ll rise again in greening limbs And murmur welcome from the grave. (Final Chorus (louder, faster, voices rising with the wind in the needles)) Oh, I’m coming home, I’m coming home, Where the wild light drips from thorn to thorn, Though half my road was walked alone, The other half was never torn. Beat the drum and wake the strings— Every loss has turned to wing; I’m coming home where the greenheart sings, And the Ancients teach me everything.

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