In the quiet misty morning,
when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stopped its singing
and the sky is clear and red...
When the summer ceases gleaming
and the corn is past its prime,
When adventure's lost its meaning
I'll be homeward bound in time.
Bind me not to the pasture,
chain me not to the plow,
set me free to find my calling
and I'll return to you somehow.
If you find it's me you're missing, if you're hoping I'll return,
To your thought I'll soon be list'ning; in the road I'll stop and turn.
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end,
And the path I'll be retracing when I'm homeward bound again.
Bind me not to the pasture. Chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling and I'll return to you somehow!
When the sparrows stop their singing, I'll be homeward bound again.