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O my son, it seems years since you leave me |
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To take up the staff and set out to your journey |
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O my son, when the road has you weary, |
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May all of its sins be as stones leading to me. |
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Through all the wrongs you've done, |
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you'll always be my son |
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through all the wrongs you've done, |
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the only records I've kept are |
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the days you've been away from home |
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I light my lamps, unlocked my doors, |
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keep watch for you at night. |
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I've set aside my robe and ring |
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until my son arrives |
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What mystery that I, as young, had spent my fathers lot |
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To be received by arms wide flung and greeted as a son. |
