The Dream  (words and music by Bill Pere)

Your father's grown too old, but the farm cannot be sold
It's his life, he passes you the spades and hoes
There's music in your blood, but that won’t pay the rent
So you spend your days singing with the crows

The furrows in your brow like those cut by your plow
Mark the place where your fertile seeds will grow
In your head you're hearing music, in your heart you're writing songs,
But they're songs that only you will know

Your hands are caked with dirt, but it's your heart that bears the hurt
There's been no rain, you've been daydreaming in song
And your father knows they're going to foreclose
He said "Son, you've done me wrong…"

Next day, early morning finds you hitching down the highway
It's the road that you know you have to go
Cause you're not the kind of guy who can build a life of sweat it seems,
But maybe you can build it with a dream

So you send a letter home, you're afraid to use the phone
You know your father won’t let you explain
'Bout how the record people said that your songs were pretty good
So you send along a check to ease his pain

Now you're harvesting the fame, but you still feel that touch of shame
You feel you've left that old man's dream to find your own
And you look a little pale when that letter in the mail says
You'd better hurry on back home

You remember how you cried when you learned that just before he died
He said "Please, give this message to my son…"
He said "I've worked long enough with horses to know when to ease the reins
And I'm proud of what you've done….
You went and found your dream


© Copyright Bill Pere - Mystic Music/Kidthink Music .  All Rights Reserved.