The Name Beneath the veil By the road where the wild winds wander,
Where the blackthorn bends to the rain,
There walks a man with a stranger’s face,
And a heart full of no-name pain.
He remembers the sound of a distant bell,
And a shore beneath a silver sky,
But the years have taken the tale from his tongue—
And he cannot remember why. Chorus
Oh, who am I, and where have I been?
What lost old road have I wandered in?
The moon knows my shadow, the stars know myname,
But the man in the mirror looks back just the same.
So I’ll follow the river, wherever it goes,
Through the heather, the mist, and the falling snow—
Till I find the first song my own heart knew,
And remember the man I was meant to be true. An old woman met him at evening,
By a fire in a cottage of stone.
She said, “You have eyes like the lad who left
When the war drums called him home.
He carried a ring with a hawthorn bloom,
And a scar by the edge of his hand.”
But he searched every pocket and found only dust,
And footprints erased in the sand. Chorus
Oh, who am I, and where have I been?
What lost old road have I wandered in?
The moon knows my shadow, the stars know myname,
But the man in the mirror looks back just the same.
So I’ll follow the river, wherever it goes,
Through the heather, the mist, and the falling snow—
Till I find the first song my own heart knew,
And remember the man I was meant to be true. He came to a village at daybreak,
Where the church bell rang clear in the dawn.
A child looked up from the roadside grass
And asked him, “Mister, where are you from?”
He knelt by the child and whispered low,
“I’m trying to learn that myself.”
Then the child took his hand and led him inside,
As if he were somebody else. That night, while the rain beat softly,
A fiddle began to play.
The tune stirred a room in the depths of his mind—
A mother, a boy, and a bay.
He saw a green hill and a red-haired girl,
A lantern, a promise, a flame.
And though he could not recall all the words,
His lips began singing his name. Final Chorus
Oh, now I know who I’ve always been—
Not the road, nor the loss, nor the shape I’m in.
I’m the love that was given, the song that survives,
The wandering heart still learning its life.
And I’ll follow the river wherever it flows,
Past the heather, the mist, and the falling snow—
For the past may be gone like the tide from theshore,
But I’m finding my way to myself once more. By the road where the wild winds wander,
He walks with the dawn at his side.
And the name he had lost in the darkness of years
Comes home with the turning tide.