In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed
When the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear and red
When the summer's ceased its gleaming when 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 thoughts I'll soon be listning, 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.
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