With his retirement at hand,
I asked my father what he had planned,
as to the soon coming choice he'd have to make;
for the new journey he'd have to take.
Quickly the words from out of him did flow:
revealing where he desired to go.

There, where the horses run wild.
There, where the horses run free.
Back to the dreams of a child,
that's where I long to be.

Though it seems that with each new day
parts of his memory slip away.
Yet I believe there will so ever remain
that which in his mind is forever ingrained,
for I see the assurance on his face,
as his thoughts seem to travel to that place.

There, where the horses run wild.
There, where the horses run free.
Back to the dreams of a child,
that's where I long to be.

Then, there came that one fateful day
I got the news he had passed away.
Now over his grave the wind does softly sing
that with a voice in my ear readily rings;
forget not to let your heart be your guide,
then maybe with me you'll come to abide.

There, where horses run wild.
There, where horses run free.
Back to the dreams of a child,
that's where I long to be.

As my own life turns one more page,
my son conversely does me engage;
asking me, what course I would so choose to take
when it comes down to that decision to make.
I repeated the words my dad had said;
for I wanted to go where he had tread.