Story Behind The Song
I was moving off to go and chase a dream I still chase, a dream I still dream today, years back...
My mother sounded the cries of worry and resistance, though I was maybe 18-19 and far too uncompromisingly naïve.
She feared then that I was wildly unbridled and in danger of so cruel the many of life's hard truths, and likely is still afraid even now that I remain so vulnerable today...
Song Description
But here's too all you worried Mama's...
"Let your babies grow up to be something of an adventurist spirit, embrace this in them. Encourage them to love beauty before money, art before fame... May you nurture them by motherly nature... And forgive them all their rebellious crusades of hormonal youth... Lustful and dream-woven and truly insane and never on time as they may be, may you only know them as they are and never them as you want for them to be... more mischievous than obedient..
Mama's, may they always remain unwilling to be denied only those fiery passions they breathe like air and can never live without... or as it was for me:
My literary pursuit into adulthood and obscurity, which to this day, I still called a dream... "
Your son, the dreamer,
- Crawford Hurst
| Song Length |
5:53 |
Genre |
Folk - Americana, Country - Americana |
| Tempo |
Medium Slow (91 - 110) |
Lead Vocal |
Female Vocal |
| Mood |
Composed, Endearing |
Subject |
Highway, Street, Road, Mother |
| Similar Artists |
Jim Croce, T-Pain |
Language |
French |
| Era |
1900 - 1920 |
| |
Lyrics
I"LL BE COMIN" HOME, AKA
======================================== ( song to comfort my Ma's worried mind)
=======================================----------------------------------------
From where I've been Ma,
To where I'll be,
From who I've known now to who knows me,
From the world I've left,
Oh Ma, to the world see,
I'll be, comin home.
From the strife I've lived through,
To the one's I've still got,
The memories I carry - to the ones that I've lost,
From jumping through hoops, - to my one big shot,
I'll be, coming home.
From where this started to where it ends,
These sidewalks in Seattle to those Oklahoma Winds,
From me, to you, Ma,
And back again,
I'll be, comin home.
From the songs I wrote,
To the words I spoke,
The bridges I built,
That lead to worlds I broke,
All these postcards - apologies - to the prayers I know,
I'll be,
Coming home,
From the devil's kiss - to the angel's touch,
Nothing at all - Ma,
To having way too much,
From crawling to walking and unwilling to budge,
I'll be, comin home.
From the raw sounds of rubber,
To the whining rails,
Picking heads, ah but then flipping tails,
From dropping anchor - to opening sails,
I'll be, coming home.
The betrayals of others to the guilt I feel,
From the nature of me to my wisest ordeals,
That false oasis to finding paradise is real;
I'll be, coming home,
From that false oasis to finding paradise is real,
I'll be, coming home