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Right outside this lazy summer home |
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You ain't got time to call your soul a critic no |
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Right outside the lazy gate of winter's summer home |
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Wondering' where the nut-thatch winters |
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Wings a mile long just carried the bird away |
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Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world |
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The heart has it's beaches, it's homeland and thoughts of it's own |
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Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin' brings |
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But the heart has it's seasons, it's evening's and songs of it's own |
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There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away |
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And there follows his wagon behind him that's loaded with clay |
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And the seeds that were silent all burst into bloom, and decay |
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And night comes so quiet, it's close on the heels of the day |
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Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world |
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The heart has it's beaches, it's homeland and thoughts of it's own |
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Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin' brings |
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But the heart has it's seasons, it's evening's and songs of it's own |
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Sometimes we live no particular way but our own |
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And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home |
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Sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone |
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Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own |
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Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world |
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The heart has it's beaches, it's homeland and thoughts of it's own |
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Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin' brings |
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But the heart has it's seasons, it's evening's and songs of it's own |
