Over There

There,
somewhere in the horizon,
aridity with no passion,
the weather is not fair.

yellow skies as a dome,
harsh with no shiny green,
maybe never pleasant, never clean,
it's a place I will call a home.

in a land of no winter,
and the rain has no shelter,
where birds sing a song of sorrow,
this is the home, so I will follow.

far away now,
the scenery is different,
so fast, quickly passes away.
Maybe beautiful still,
like a fantastical thrill,
from home, I'm far away.

In a place of ancient dreams,
one thousand nights and Sinbad,
stories of the wise or so the bad,
such as that, are my childhood themes.

Stories of kings and knights,
the glories and the battles they made,
that vanished now like a long gone crusade,
that was my home, when in the heights.

No wonder then if you see,
a tear drop on the man's cheek,
far away from home now,
if home exists still...

in a land of no winter,
and the rain has no shelter,
where birds sing a song of sorrow,
this is the home, so I will follow.

far away now,
the scenery is different,
so fast, quickly passes away.
Maybe beautiful still,
like a fantastical thrill,
from home, I'm far away.