His songs, melodies, and lyrics rushed forward
In a room where ya do what you don't confess
I saw him in concert once. In Boston, it was surreal
Having listened to his albums, he played exactly the same way
The minstrel of the dawn is here
That was his thing, he worked hard to create it, we bought it,
he wanted us to get what we paid for
On the summer side of life
His ballads or story songs told many memorable tales
Reaching for his saddlebag,
he takes a battered book into his hand
When the gales of November came early
If you could read my mind love
What a tale my thoughts could tell
Rows of lights in a circle of steel
It's time for a summertime dream
In a race among the ruins
Ribbon of darkness over me
And the big steel rail
Gonna carry me home to the one I love
And by the way, did she mention my name
If she didn't, I did. And will I remember you fondly
When the green dark forest is to silent to be real
In fond memory of Gordon Lightfoot, his music, his voice
