Bound
Bound to a boulder
Made of gold and silver
Scrape
Scraping on the old stone
Steps of the winding stairwell
I am the ghost of the Bloomfield road
Walking backwards slowly so
I will remember the way that I came
A strange reflection on the windowpanes
Born
Born all over
Clad in nettle and clover
And full
Full of the wildness
Of love at its brightest
Well, I am a father now God help us all
I said to myself as I held him
And waited to find out if you were alive
Every minute a lifetime
Yes, I am the ghost of the Bloomfield road
Walking backwards slowly so
I will remember the way that I came
A strange reflection on the windowpanes, ahh...
