Daddy’s Wings

Writing this song, I no longer find myself off the coast of North Africa but in the sizeable, top-floor bridal suite—the only room available as we checked in, me and a friend of mine—of a small Copenhagen hotel. As I recall, I spent about four weeks there on an assignment, me, my friend, and, among other things, a borrowed guitar.

Originally I called the song Daniel’s Good Night—not sure exactly why, I just liked the name, I suspect—but Daddy’s Wings is a more appropriate title since I had small glimpses of my own father as I wrote it (the only song I’ve written that as much as notices him, as it happens).

These thoughts about my dad, however, are more dream than memory, for my father was not so much like this father, at least not on the surface—and he rarely, if ever, dared to show what lay beneath.

Perhaps the song dreams of what he might have been—or, perhaps, was.

Daddy's Wings Writing this song, I no longer find myself off the coast of North Africa but in the sizeable, top-floor bridal suite-the only room available as we checked in, me and a friend of mine-of a small Copenhagen hotel.

The Words:

Now the night has
ceased to chill me
I like it in here
oh, Daddy, can I stay

Here the log burns
oh, so warmly
the fire sings and dances
dancers on the walls

And they move like the angels
in that story
where shadows would rise
on wings to seek the light

I am so peaceful
Daddy hold me
and tell me again
how fire fooled the night

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