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When I was a child and the road was dark and the way was long and alone, |
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My heart would lift as I turned the bend and saw the lights of home. |
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Now high above in a silent sky, |
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In a still and starry space, |
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A man looks down on the earth below, |
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And that blue and green and shining glow, |
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To him is the lights of home. |
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It's the good earth, yes the good earth. |
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It's a land of sun and rain and snow, |
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And mulberry trees and mistletoe, |
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And burning plains and raging seas, |
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And Sunday morning taking your ease, |
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Watching your children grow. |
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It's the good earth, yes the good earth, |
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Where we fought and loved and killed and died, |
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And ruined and ravished the countryside, |
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But now, from a million miles away, |
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From another world that's cold and gray, |
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Someone is able to look and say, |
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\"That's the good earth.\" |
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So isn't it time we stopped the tears? |
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We've lived together for thousands of years, |
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And whether I'm wrong, and whether you're right, |
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Whether you're black, and whether I'm white, |
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One day we'll stand on the edge of the world, |
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And someone will ask us the land of our birth, |
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And we'll look into his eyes and quietly say: |
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\"It's the good earth, yes the good earth.\" |
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Why can't we be good on the good earth? |