Mom and dad built a house in 1961 a modest family home that faced west into the sun in the backyard, two big sycamores that the builder spared and dad put up a tree swing that my sister and i shared
I’m swinging back and forth a spirit on the wind i’m swinging back and forth and back and forth again
Just an old hunk of clothesline that dad tied way up there on a branch that a wren house and my swing now share swing west into the sunset east into the woods a swing and a tree to sail her by has got me feeling good
I’m swinging back and forth...
Just an old scrap of lumber from a junk pile up the street but in the mind of a little boy its the pilots seat of a big old silver liner flying through the sky or the cradle of the wren house in the branches way up high
I’m swinging back and forth...
There beneath the tree swing was big old patch of dirt and that red clay dust ground into my pants and shirt long hot summer days beneath that shady tree and the swing up in the sycamore that dad put there for me
I’m swinging back and forth...
In ’68 we moved to a house that had no trees and playground swings of metal can’t touch one of these they don’t have the wren house or the care of a loving dad or that dear old dusty dirt patch that my dear old tree swing had
