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Isembard's Wheel
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Autumn in Eden
Well, long days of Winter,
turning weary hearts aside,
they're lining the pavement,
and I'm one.
Now you and I,
we've run like two rivers,
to this fireside,
in the town.
Oh, I know, I know,
like a hawk on the wing,
blessèd skies, my soul,
is born to sing in the wind.
Another morning on the hill,
the valley turning blue and gold,
to realise my virtue,
never broke,
and bitter words,
that followed fast and followed faster,
only brought me grief,
when I woke.
Now, perhaps I pass more slowly,
through these old and empty rooms,
or recognise a wisdom,
in your eye.
But brittle bones,
no more a cause for dark reflection,
now I wear my dust,
with pride.
Oh, I know, I know,
like a hawk on the wing,
blessèd skies, my soul,
is born to sing in the wind.
And here among the evening,
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I find patience and repose,
footfalls ringing up,
and down the street.
Now wait a while,
no matter what else comes to pass,
most of all, you be what you believe.
Well, rivers run in valleys,
carried far below our feet,
and cold, folded earth sleeps,
to the Spring.
But you and I,
let's blow away these cobwebs,
'cos this earth feels firm,
to my feet.
Most of all just be,
what you believe.
A new day dawns,
in the East.
Oh, I know, I know,
like a hawk on the wing,
blessèd skies, my soul,
is born to sing in the wind,
And this pilgrim son,
stung by shame and pride,
sacred stones, my bones,
will one day cease to sigh,
For far beyond these hills,
churchbells of my home,
quiet footsteps fall,
and they bear me on.
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