Tracks
by Wild Carrot
I guess she always thought
livin’ by the tracks
meant that she would get somewhere; see the world.
Now she’s looking out
at the falling snow
from the window where she used to sit as a little girl,
When she’d sing: Hold me in the fingers of your heart,
let me swing like an open door;
free like the warm summer rain,
I need to run, wanna fly
I hear the whistle cry,
and I swear someday, I’m gonna catch that train.
The sweat upon her brow,
the flour on her hands
have been there for a hundred years, maybe more.
Generations passed it down
any dream she ever had
was closed inside the old stone hearth behind the kitchen door
And she sings: Hold me in the fingers of your heart,
let me swing like an open door;
free like the warm summer rain,
I need to run, wanna fly
I hear the whistle cry,
and I swear someday, I’m gonna catch that train.
So now her daughter kneads the dough
and makes the earthen loaves
like her mother’s mothers used to do so long ago
But her dreams are far away
somewhere down the tracks
if she never leaves this place then she’ll never know
Sometimes you have to leave home.
Sometimes you have to run away.
Sometimes the leavin’ means you’re headed in the right direction.
Now she sings: Hold me in the fingers of your heart,
let me swing like an open door;
free like the warm summer rain,
I need to run, wanna fly
I hear the whistle cry,
and I swear someday, I’m gonna catch that train.
I guess she always thought
livin’ by the tracks
meant that she would get somewhere; see the world.
