My Dream

When I build my home,

That I shall have some day;

It'll be like I want it

Oh - and I mean that in every way.

I have yet to see any

That would cope with the style -

Of the house that I dream of;

That I'll build after a while.

The roof of it will have peak lines,

And contours that dip;

And form shadowy eaves,

Where the little raindrops can drip.

... That sweet pitter patter,

Of raindrops at play -

Is such a beautiful sound

On a quiet gloomy day.

You know, when the wind is high,

And the storm gods race,

And I'll be snugged up

By my fire-place.

Maybe feeding my little dog,

Or playing with my little cat.

But unconsciously yearning,

And wonderin' where you're at.

But when the meadow is shadowed

By that old sinking sun;

And the roses are bowing

For the dew drops to come;

At my old upright piano,

With pure ivory keys,

I'll just plunk out some vibrations

Of whatever I please.

Sometimes it'll be classics,

Sometimes lullabies;

But mostly rock n' roll

- that I'll surely improvise.

And with my favourite guitar,

I'll be just strummin' away

And bidding goodbye,

To another beautiful day.

A portrait of my angel,

That I love most of all -

I'll have painted from a snapshot

Onto my bedroom wall.

Where the suns warm rays,

And the moon's cold beam

Will cast her reflection,

As I lay there and dream.

You know, I can't deny

- but it makes me so sad,

When I think that I've lost

All that I could have had.

It was best for her -

And I guess I, I know;

That she measured my love -

And then asked me to go.

Then Finally my house,

I will have it complete.

And I'll take up a smoke,

Sitting by the window sill.

And I'll read my many books

That I'll have in my bachelors nest;

While the sun goes drooping

- down in the west.

And I'll feel that gold,

Warm light on my face;

And then I'll start trippin'

To some far off place.

That through all of my travels,

I must have missed somewhere -

A place that I might find

My angel someday.

And I'll leave all that I have

To the gods, up above;

And go spend my life searching

For the angel, that I love.

For all of my dreams,

Would be but a souvenir;

Compared to the one

That I love so dear.