Sanoja: Iron & Wine. Homeward, These Shoes.

Homeward, the new road meanders
Washed out, the old road asks, 'What did I bring?'
Flowers, a verse about springtime
Perchance, in the tree line, she's waiting for me

Homeward, these shoes worn to paper
Thin as the reason I left here so young
Homeward, and what if I see her
There in the doorway I walked away from?

White house asleep on the hillside
Firm as a habit I struggle to shed
Homeward with heaven above me
Old road behind me, door up a head