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I've gotta get home there's a garden to tend |
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There's fruit on the ground and the birds have all moved back into my attic, |
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Whistling static |
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And the young learn to fly |
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I will patch all the holes up again |
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Well, I can't believe that my lime tree is dead |
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I thought it was sleeping, I guess it got fed up with not being fed |
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And I would be too, I keep food in my belly |
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And hope that my time isn't soon. |
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And so I try to understand |
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What I can't hold in my hand |
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And wherever we are home is there too |
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And if you could try to find it too |
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'Cause this place is overgrown, needs some whacks and mow. |
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Home is wherever we are if there's love here too |
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In the back of our house there's a trail that won't end |
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We went walking so far that it grew back again |
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There's no trail at all |
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Only grass growing taller |
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Get out my machete and battle with time once again |
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But I'm bound to lose 'cause I'll be down if time don't win |
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I've gotta get home there's a garden to tend |
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All the seeds from the fruits buried and begin |
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Their own family trees teach them, thank you and please |
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They spread their own roots, then watch their young fruit grow again |
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And this old trail will lead me right back to where it begins |
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And so I try to understand |
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What I can't hold in my hand |
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And whatever I find I'll find my way back to you |
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And if you could try to find it too |
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'Cause this place is overgrown, needs some whacks and mow. |
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Home is wherever we are if there's love here too |