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 |