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