This is completely haunting and beautiful to me, and speaks of the mystery of our past. As I continue to research the history of my own family, 11 generations now in America, with members on opposite sides of the Civil War, these words have new meaning.
My Father's Father
I hear something hanging on the wind
I see black smoke up around the bend
I got my ticket and
I'm going to go home
The leaves have changed a time or two
Since the last time the train came through
I got my ticket and I'm going to go home
My father's father's blood is on the track
A sweet refrain drifts in from the past
I got my ticket and I'm going to go home
The winding roads they led me here
burn like coal and dry like tears
So here's my hope
My tired soul
So here's my ticket
I want to go home
Home
Home
