My Dream - Chuck Berry

When I build my home

That I shall have some day;

It’ll be like I want it

Oh — and I mean that in every way

I have yet to see any

That would cope with the style —

Of the house that I dream of;

That I’ll build after a while

The roof of it will have peak lines

And contours that dip;

And form shadowy eaves

Where the little raindrops can drip

… That sweet pitter patter

Of raindrops at play —

Is such a beautiful sound

On a quiet gloomy day

You know, when the wind is high

And the storm gods race

And I’ll be snugged up

By my fire-place

Maybe feeding my little dog

Or playing with my little cat

But unconsciously yearning

And wonderin' where you’re at

But when the meadow is shadowed

By that old sinking sun;

And the roses are bowing

For the dew drops to come;

At my old upright piano

With pure ivory keys

I’ll just plunk out some vibrations

Of whatever I please

Sometimes it’ll be classics

Sometimes lullabies;

But mostly rock n' roll

— that I’ll surely improvise

And with my favourite guitar

I’ll be just strummin' away

And bidding goodbye

To another beautiful day

A portrait of my angel

That I love most of all —

I’ll have painted from a snapshot

Onto my bedroom wall

Where the suns warm rays

And the moon’s cold beam

Will cast her reflection

As I lay there and dream

You know, I can’t deny

— but it makes me so sad

When I think that I’ve lost

All that I could have had

It was best for her —

And I guess I, I know;

That she measured my love —

And then asked me to go

Then Finally my house

I will have it complete

And I’ll take up a smoke

Sitting by the window sill

And I’ll read my many books

That I’ll have in my bachelors nest;

While the sun goes drooping

— down in the west

And I’ll feel that gold

Warm light on my face;

And then I’ll start trippin'

To some far off place

That through all of my travels

I must have missed somewhere —

A place that I might find

My angel someday

And I’ll leave all that I have

To the gods, up above;

And go spend my life searching

For the angel, that I love

For all of my dreams

Would be but a souvenir;

Compared to the one

That I love so dear