Young

It’s June of 1991 and I live in the United States now, just north of Los Angeles. Got a day job, too. Even so, I’d get up every morning at five to make time for song and story writing before heading into work at eight.

This one morning—it’s early California summer—something reminded me of the summer fields of my childhood in northern Sweden. What reminded me, I don’t know, but I experienced (again) fields so green and skies so blue as to sustain you physically. And where I would rest, and dream, and dream.

And so this song grew to house the dream.

Young It's June of 1991 and I live in the United States now, just north of Los Angeles. Got a day job, too. Even so, I'd get up every morning at five to make time for song and story writing before heading into work at eight.

The Words:

Windy field of dream
carry me away
gild my day
with but a gleam
of wonder where I lay

Clouds come sailing by
stately ‘cross the blue
what a view
what grace thought I
what a peace I knew
calling me aeons away

dreaming of faraway countries
spreading my wings
on the winds I attain
thoughts (like birds) ascend
soar above the plain

Cradled by the grass
summer’s all around
while astounding
hours pass
every sight and sound

carry on the breeze
voices from before
songs and lore
and hope that sees
me and what I live for
calling me light years away

dreaming of faraway countries
places where beauty
and magic obtain
thoughts (like birds) ascend
glide beyond the plain

looking for faraway countries
led by a vision
I vow to maintain
thoughts (like birds) descend
come to roost again

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