I dream of Caldwyn, of merry old days
I dream of the songs and fields of hay
The misty old marsh, lying in peace
Brings me memories of the grandeur of feasts

I dream of Caldwyn, of the merry old songs
The merry old tunes that we’d follow along
The trickling brooks and whispering wind
Reminds me of days where there was no sin

I dream of Caldwyn, the lost old tale
The story retold, of a land still stale
Of olden days when they were of galore
Now they tell of the bloods of war

I dream of Caldwyn, the land from long ago
The days when I would have work on the hoe
Where I’d harvest the grain and make the flour
Where we’d wait for the summer showers

I dream of Caldwyn, now long gone
I dream of a place left in old songs
Where bards tell tales of merry old peace
But now the story is starting to cease

I dream of Caldwyn, my lost old home
Now forever more is left in a tome
The strings have ceased and the voice has fallen
And my heart, the lost beat is finally stalling

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