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I was raised up young beside the wolves
Of my home, of my home
Where his father made their living violently
In blood and stone, blood and stone
The trees shot high and grew so close
There we’d play, there we’d play
But I’m a runaway; you’re a fraud, a fake, a liar
We’ve grown away, we’ve grown away

The woods are calling out my name
So I’m howling up at the moon,
“My friend, my savior, my broken neighbor
Come home, come home…”

Now they’ve come barking after me up to my door
I’d dare begin to face my sin
And like the moon hanging stripped above the trees
I’m cut thin, oh, I’m cut thin
But there’s no baring teeth or raging words
Just broken eyes, those burnt-red eyes
My heart is not what it used to be; I feel spent when I’m reduced to thee
My friend, we’ve met our end

The wolves are calling out my name
So I’m rustling away from the moon
All my days, my labor, stretched long with misbehavior
Now I’m gone, now I’m gone.


from Things Remembered, released May 17, 2014


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Timothy Jackson Scott Milford, New Hampshire

Folksinger/songwriter from Milford, NH.

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