Far away, as in time, not necessarily in distance. Far away from the destruction, the initial loss, is where the writer is right now. He still hasn't gotten over it. Still grieving from something far off, long ago.
Often, when we set down to sleep, as the candlelight flickers out, the one we lost, who can never be replaced, is the last image in our consciousness. Every morning, that image is the first to greet him. The writer faces another day. He starts from scratch, with an empty cup. It takes everything he's got to get it filled.
He makes a decision to end his pain by going to see his lost love. The question for the listener is whether that person is deceased (so, he would be ending his own life to see her) or alive somewhere. I, for one, like to believe that it's the Girl from the North Country.
Far away, as in time, not necessarily in distance. Far away from the destruction, the initial loss, is where the writer is right now. He still hasn't gotten over it. Still grieving from something far off, long ago.
Often, when we set down to sleep, as the candlelight flickers out, the one we lost, who can never be replaced, is the last image in our consciousness. Every morning, that image is the first to greet him. The writer faces another day. He starts from scratch, with an empty cup. It takes everything he's got to get it filled.
He makes a decision to end his pain by going to see his lost love. The question for the listener is whether that person is deceased (so, he would be ending his own life to see her) or alive somewhere. I, for one, like to believe that it's the Girl from the North Country.