On the way, on the way home
I saw a rainbow beneath my feet,
flowing over the filthy street.
It’s a long, it’s a long way
back to the place where we used to sit
when you and I were just little kids.
The time we had is not gone.
The way we chose was the long one.
The time we had is not gone.
The stone that fell is still falling.
So let that stone be the wondrous thing
that comes to pass when our voices sing.
On the way, on the way home
I heard some ghosts laughing in the trees,
moving inside the midnight breeze.
The time we had is not gone.
The way we chose was the long one.
The time we had is not gone.
Way out here the voice and the mind are clear.