Meduseld

That which moves my heart most either only exists in a book or a world away

“Meduseld”

 

He waits for me

Where the horse-lords dwell

Within their timbered hall,

To take the bridled reigns and

Send my heart to racing;

I’ve just to turn the page.

 

He waits for me

Inside a café, drinking –

Anxious to jump on-stage

To take the mike and

Recite my heart to racing;

I’ve just to board the plane.

 

But I can’t go to Meduseld,

I can’t go to Prague.

No timbered hall,

No café, drinking –

The one who waits is

Me.