| I would sometimes when it rained put a candle there
|
| As if it were an alter all white and bare
|
| And I’d draw myself a bath and soak in the dark
|
| As if I were Noah and this was my ark
|
| And I’d look out of that window at the towering sky
|
| And think to myself, «How lucky am I»
|
| That I have my home and I live here
|
| Like a baby in a blanket with nothing to fear
|
| I’d boil up some coffee on that battered old stove
|
| And wonder how those people could travel and rove
|
| So wild and unprotected out across this great land
|
| Out in the wind, out in the sand
|
| And I think I’ll never leave here, never leave here at all
|
| Like a tree always knowing where it’s leaves will fall
|
| You fight like the devil to hold this ground
|
| This place of safety that we’ve found
|
| These roots reach out past the shadow of the tree
|
| We thought we could be home free
|
| Now I will sometimes put some flowers outside
|
| As if they were a picket fence to help me hide
|
| And I’ll bury this talisman beneath the great tree
|
| We’ll stay here together my old friend and me
|
| And I’ll look out of that window at the towering sky
|
| And I’ll think to myself, «How lucky am I»
|
| That I have my home and I live here
|
| Like a baby in a blanket with nothing to fear |