Album: Poet of Rock 'n' Roll
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