... there may be no end

There may be no end the way that I see it,
but it seems I need to end to begin

I rode the rail up north from L.A.,
the golden hills behind me.
I had a feeling I'd work hard my whole life
and nobody would ever find me.
I called my true love 2 months on the road.
I heard her sweet voice dying.
I broke ground on a new road
but I can't see around the bend.
Although the hammers keep flying.

There may be no end the way that I see it,
but it seems I need to end to begin

A pain struck me through my shoulder one afternoon
as I was working down in the valley.
I awoke in a bed with strangers gazing down.
They took me in and cared for me.
When I was good enough to stand up on my own,
the voices came back to me.
The ones that lit the way—when I was all alone—
toward a feeling I could never get exactly.

There may be no end the way that I see it,
but it seems I need to end to begin

Now I'm standing, watching the tolling bells
hoping to see where I belong.
And though I live among the best folks that I know,
somehow, something still seems wrong.

There may be no end the way that I see it,
but it seems I need to end to begin


Copyright 2008 Jon Swift
Recorded at the Ferdinand Cottage
Jon Swift: banjo, vocals, guitar, mandolin, bass, tambourine & shaker

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