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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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Wond'rin' 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 evenin'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 evenin'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 evenin's and songs of it's own. |
