| Song | Geodes |
| Artist | Carrie Newcomer |
| Album | The Geography Of Light |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| No you can't always tell one from another | |
| And it's best not to judge a book by it's tattered cover | |
| I have found when | |
| I tried or looked deeper inside | |
| What appears unadorned might be wondrously formed | |
| You can't always tell but sometimes you just know' | |
| Round here we throw geodes in our gardens | |
| They're as common as the rain or corn silk in | |
| JulyUnpretentious browns and grays the stain of | |
| Indiana clay | |
| They're what's left of shallow seas, glacial rock and mystery | |
| And inside their shines a secret bright as promise | |
| All these things that we call familiar | |
| Are just miracles clothed in the commonplace | |
| And you’ll see it if you try in the next stranger's eyes | |
| God walks around in muddy boots, sometimes rags and that's the truth | |
| You can't always tell, but sometimes you just know | |
| Some say geodes were made from pockets of tears | |
| Trapped away in small places for years upon years | |
| Pressed down and transformed, 'til the true self was born | |
| And the whole world moved on like the last notes of a song | |
| A love letter sent without return address | |
| No you can't always tell one from another | |
| And it's best not to judge a book by it's tattered cover | |
| I don't open them to see folks 'round here just like me | |
| We have come to believe there's hidden good in common things | |
| You can't always tell but sometimes you just know | |
| You can't always tell but sometimes you just know |
| No you can' t always tell one from another | |
| And it' s best not to judge a book by it' s tattered cover | |
| I have found when | |
| I tried or looked deeper inside | |
| What appears unadorned might be wondrously formed | |
| You can' t always tell but sometimes you just know' | |
| Round here we throw geodes in our gardens | |
| They' re as common as the rain or corn silk in | |
| JulyUnpretentious browns and grays the stain of | |
| Indiana clay | |
| They' re what' s left of shallow seas, glacial rock and mystery | |
| And inside their shines a secret bright as promise | |
| All these things that we call familiar | |
| Are just miracles clothed in the commonplace | |
| And you' ll see it if you try in the next stranger' s eyes | |
| God walks around in muddy boots, sometimes rags and that' s the truth | |
| You can' t always tell, but sometimes you just know | |
| Some say geodes were made from pockets of tears | |
| Trapped away in small places for years upon years | |
| Pressed down and transformed, ' til the true self was born | |
| And the whole world moved on like the last notes of a song | |
| A love letter sent without return address | |
| No you can' t always tell one from another | |
| And it' s best not to judge a book by it' s tattered cover | |
| I don' t open them to see folks ' round here just like me | |
| We have come to believe there' s hidden good in common things | |
| You can' t always tell but sometimes you just know | |
| You can' t always tell but sometimes you just know |
| No you can' t always tell one from another | |
| And it' s best not to judge a book by it' s tattered cover | |
| I have found when | |
| I tried or looked deeper inside | |
| What appears unadorned might be wondrously formed | |
| You can' t always tell but sometimes you just know' | |
| Round here we throw geodes in our gardens | |
| They' re as common as the rain or corn silk in | |
| JulyUnpretentious browns and grays the stain of | |
| Indiana clay | |
| They' re what' s left of shallow seas, glacial rock and mystery | |
| And inside their shines a secret bright as promise | |
| All these things that we call familiar | |
| Are just miracles clothed in the commonplace | |
| And you' ll see it if you try in the next stranger' s eyes | |
| God walks around in muddy boots, sometimes rags and that' s the truth | |
| You can' t always tell, but sometimes you just know | |
| Some say geodes were made from pockets of tears | |
| Trapped away in small places for years upon years | |
| Pressed down and transformed, ' til the true self was born | |
| And the whole world moved on like the last notes of a song | |
| A love letter sent without return address | |
| No you can' t always tell one from another | |
| And it' s best not to judge a book by it' s tattered cover | |
| I don' t open them to see folks ' round here just like me | |
| We have come to believe there' s hidden good in common things | |
| You can' t always tell but sometimes you just know | |
| You can' t always tell but sometimes you just know |