he's an old, old man... but he's my old man...
easily he forgets, and he's quick to tire...
and he can't understand, how it is he is still my biggest fan...
and I've yet to set the world on fire...
but he let me dream my dreams...
and he was there, when they fell through
when my cloud lost it's silver seam...
he was the one I could take my troubles to.
she's a woman of the world, she is my world...
my port in storm, anchor on these seas...
she's got an eye for the truth, and what things are really worth;
times I wonder what it is she sees in me...
but she lets me dream my dreams...
and she is there, when they fall through;
when my cloud loses it's silver seam...
she one I can take my troubles to...
they are children of tomrorow, they are my children...
I'll help them be what it is that they wish to be...
let them reach for the stars, get their bumps and their scars
they will always have a friend in me...
I'm going to let them dream their dreams...
I will be there, should they fall through...
if their clouds lose their silver seam...
they can come home, and bring their troubles, too...
I believe that dreams are the future, I still believe in dreams
though at times they are as hard to catch as rings of smoke...
still, if lovers share a dream, surely nothing can come between...
they may not go far, but the'll never go broke...
so darlin', let us dream our dreams...
we'll have each other, should they fall through;
and if only, if only in our dreams...
that which we have, will always hold true...
I believe dreams are like an open door...
step into my dream.
... my old man was a great friend to me... in a time when many of my friends were at loggerheads with their parents, (fathers in particular) my dad was a gem...many of my friends sought and received refuge in our home. Perhaps because my brother Peter had extreme emotional issues, my dad was more than willing to help when he could. He loved poetry and songs, and was very supportive of my early efforts. Once, when I had a little gig at The Commoner, a folk club at Tent University; he presented me with slab of plywood that he had painted with the legend: "Den's Stomping Board" on in house paint. A reference to Tom Connors, of course; whom I held in no high regard at the time. I suspect my definition of 'folksinger' was perhaps a trifle narrow at that point. I've no idea what became of that gift, but I know it didn't make it to the gig. love to all, d.