When I build my home, That I shall have some day; It'll be like I want it Oh - and I mean that in every way. I have yet to see any That would cope with the style - Of the house that I dream of; That I'll build after a while. The roof of it will have peak lines, And contours that dip; And form shadowy eaves, Where the little raindrops can drip. ... That sweet pitter patter, Of raindrops at play - Is such a beautiful sound On a quiet gloomy day. You know, when the wind is high, And the storm gods race, And I'll be snugged up By my fire-place. Maybe feeding my little dog, Or playing with my little cat. But unconsciously yearning, And wonderin' where you're at. But when the meadow is shadowed By that old sinking sun; And the roses are bowing For the dew drops to come; At my old upright piano, With pure ivory keys, I'll just plunk out some vibrations Of whatever I please. Sometimes it'll be classics, Sometimes lullabies; But mostly rock n' roll - that I'll surely improvise. And with my favourite guitar, I'll be just strummin' away And bidding goodbye, To another beautiful day. A portrait of my angel, That I love most of all - I'll have painted from a snapshot Onto my bedroom wall. Where the suns warm rays, And the moon's cold beam Will cast her reflection, As I lay there and dream. You know, I can't deny - but it makes me so sad, When I think that I've lost All that I could have had. It was best for her - And I guess I, I know; That she measured my love - And then asked me to go. Then Finally my house, I will have it complete. And I'll take up a smoke, Sitting by the window sill. And I'll read my many books That I'll have in my bachelors nest; While the sun goes drooping - down in the west. And I'll feel that gold, Warm light on my face; And then I'll start trippin' To some far off place. That through all of my travels, I must have missed somewhere - A place that I might find My angel someday. And I'll leave all that I have To the gods, up above; And go spend my life searching For the angel, that I love. For all of my dreams, Would be but a souvenir; Compared to the one That I love so dear.
When I build my home, That I shall have some day; It'll be like I want it Oh - and I mean that in every way. I have yet to see any That would cope with the style - Of the house that I dream of; That I'll build after a while. The roof of it will have peak lines, And contours that dip; And form shadowy eaves, Where the little raindrops can drip. ... That sweet pitter patter, Of raindrops at play - Is such a beautiful sound On a quiet gloomy day. You know, when the wind is high, And the storm gods race, And I'll be snugged up By my fire-place. Maybe feeding my little dog, Or playing with my little cat. But unconsciously yearning, And wonderin' where you're at. But when the meadow is shadowed By that old sinking sun; And the roses are bowing For the dew drops to come; At my old upright piano, With pure ivory keys, I'll just plunk out some vibrations Of whatever I please. Sometimes it'll be classics, Sometimes lullabies; But mostly rock n' roll - that I'll surely improvise. And with my favourite guitar, I'll be just strummin' away And bidding goodbye, To another beautiful day. A portrait of my angel, That I love most of all - I'll have painted from a snapshot Onto my bedroom wall. Where the suns warm rays, And the moon's cold beam Will cast her reflection, As I lay there and dream. You know, I can't deny - but it makes me so sad, When I think that I've lost All that I could have had. It was best for her - And I guess I, I know; That she measured my love - And then asked me to go. Then Finally my house, I will have it complete. And I'll take up a smoke, Sitting by the window sill. And I'll read my many books That I'll have in my bachelors nest; While the sun goes drooping - down in the west. And I'll feel that gold, Warm light on my face; And then I'll start trippin' To some far off place. That through all of my travels, I must have missed somewhere - A place that I might find My angel someday. And I'll leave all that I have To the gods, up above; And go spend my life searching For the angel, that I love. For all of my dreams, Would be but a souvenir; Compared to the one That I love so dear.
