“Coming Home”

Well the winter winds from old
Make a brittle from my mold
and maybe it’s the middle of the night

When my wheel run to a stop
Then can my cradle finely drop
Stand from a man back to a boy and turn it right

It ain’t easy
It ain’t ea-easy
Fought it fair, and fought it well
More to bear, and far from hell
Then I’d rather find to rest my weary bones

Never easy
Never ea-easy
Chuck a care, and prattle on
In the air, when nothing’s wrong
Wears me ragged, cuts me quick, I’m comin’ home