Version 2
(Verse 1)
In a village remote, ‘neath the mountain’s old cloak,
Lived a villager plain, with a heart that spoke,
He stood by his stall, day after day,
With potions and books, but no one to trade.
(Chorus)
Oh, the seasons they turned, as he stood there alone,
Watching the sun set, hoping for a home,
In the heart of a traveler, who might come his way,
With stories to tell and a price to pay.
[harmonica solo]
(Verse 2)
He watched as the summer turned to autumn’s gold,
And winter’s white blanket left him feeling cold,
Decades it seemed, passed by his eye,
While the villagers moved on, he let out a sigh.
(Chorus)
Oh, the seasons they turned, as he stood there alone,
Watching the sun set, hoping for a home,
In the heart of a traveler, who might come his way,
With stories to tell and a price to pay.
(Verse 3)
One crisp spring morn, with the dawn’s first light,
You appeared on the horizon, a welcoming sight,
With a sparkle of hope, you traded with glee,
For wood, stone, and iron, what a sight to see.
(Chorus)
Oh, the seasons they turned, as he stood there alone,
Watching the sun set, hoping for a home,
In the heart of a traveler, who might come his way,
With stories to tell and a price to pay.
(Verse 4)
The village buzzed with the tales you’d share,
Of lands far away and adventures rare,
But as swiftly as you came, you had to depart,
Leaving the villager with a heavy heart.
(Chorus)
Oh, the seasons they turned, as he stood there alone,
Watching the sun set, hoping for a home,
In the heart of a traveler, who might come his way,
With stories to tell and a price to pay.
(Verse 5)
Now he stands by his stall, with a spark in his eye,
Gazing at the horizon, watching the sky,
He remembers the days when the village was bright,
With the hope that you’ll return, in the pale moonlight.
(Chorus)
Oh, the seasons they turned, as he stood there alone,
Watching the sun set, hoping for a home,
In the heart of a traveler, who might come his way,
With stories to tell and a price to pay.
(Outro)
In the heart of the village, ‘neath the mountain’s old shroud,
Lives a villager waiting, with hope unbowed,
For the dawn of a day when new friends will come,
And the stories of the past will again be sung.
[harmonica solo]
(End)