From the recording Homewood Days
This song will be the second to last track in Movement 2. It was written about Doc's grandparents' house.
There is a place where it all began,
A place that I once called my home.
And, oh how I’d roam,
The world was my own.
The Tuckers lived all the way ‘cross the street,
The Bakers were pals just next door,
The frontiers we’d explore,
In Western folklore.
My dreams touched the sky in those Homewood Days,
I never asked why in those Homewood Days.
Saturday cowboys in the front yard,
A jail out the back by the shed.
The lives that I led,
In a little boy’s head.
And Sundays we’d ride to the Berry Farm,
Share Cokes at the old Calico.
Sit with Outlaw Joe,
Wear our guns down real low.
And it never rained in those Homewood Days,
There was no pain in those Homewood Days.
I was so free in those Homewood Days,
I could be me in those Homewood Days.
There is a place where I often go,
Though my memories have started to fade.
A little boy still plays,
In those Homewood Days.
Originally written 2006
© Robert L. Waltz, 2008
Waltz Songs, ASCAP