Built Along the Way

I packed my bags

with a map of empty space

Looking for my

reflection in a different place

Oh, the road doesn't hold the keys

It was only ever wind in the trees

Home is the timber

we raise in the cold

Home is the story that we make and hold

Thirty years running, trying to outpace the night

With a pocket full of stones

and a fading light

But a hand on the hammer

and a hearth in the ground

Is the only kind of peace

I have ever found

Oh, the road doesn't hold the keys

It was only ever wind in the trees

Home is the timber we raise in the cold

Home is the story that we make and hold (yeah)

We build it ourselves

Every block, every stone

We build it ourselves...