Lyrics

Took me seventy years to come home to myself.
Turns out I was never lost —
just taking the scenic route.

I learned the road before I learned to read,
Moving every third year, planting scattered seed.
I sewed my own coat when the world wouldn’t fit,
Now the wind calls my name, and I don’t answer with shame.

They say the old grow quiet, fade from view —
But a small orange light still burns in my sleep.

I’m not lost — I am finally found,
Walking with my quiet, invisible crown.
Seventy long winters to love my strange —
Strange is just the long word for being whole.
Hold your little spark, let the grey dust fly —
We are the most beautiful things under the sky.

My friends grew gardens straight and clean,
I grew crooked forests in the spaces in between.
A soul with linen ears like a rabbit in the sage,
A man with driftwood horns of the same age.

Don’t ask me to set these suitcases down —
They hold every river, every face, every town.

I’m not lost — I am finally found,
Walking with my quiet, invisible crown.
Hold your little spark, let the grey dust fly —
We are the most beautiful things under the sky.

Some hearts bloom late, they bloom brave.
Some souls grow wild when the world looks away.
Late-bloom flowers in a world of early spring —
The long way home is the long way to me.

We’re not lost — we are finally found,
Walking with our quiet, invisible crowns.
Seventy long winters to love our strange —
Two orange stitches that we keep.
Hold your little spark, let the grey dust fly —
We are the most beautiful things under the sky.

Child, you’re okay to stay.
Strange — and finally home.