| I stopped somewhere in Nashville
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| New York, then LA
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| I woke up without knowing why
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| Somehow I’d lost my way
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| There were no signs to guide me
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| Only strangers who were kind
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| They offered me directions
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| To the dreams I’d left behind, left behind
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| I’m on my way and getting close
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| To the roses growing
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| To the rivers flowing
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| Let my heart go where it’s going
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| To the seasons turning
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| To the home fires burning
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| To my roots, to my roots
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| To my roots, I am returning
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| The city streets are hard
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| Break down my walking boots
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| It seems I’m always travelling home
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| To get back to my roots
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| Happiness seems like a place
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| That’s always far away
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| It’s like a prayer you know so well
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| But you’ve forgotten how to pray, how to pray
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| I’m on my way and getting close
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| To the roses growing
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| To the rivers flowing
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| Let my heart go where it’s going
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| To the seasons turning
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| To the home fires burning
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| To my roots, to my roots
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| To my roots, I am returning
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| A church bell rings out loud
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| So loud it breaks the spell
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| I look outside my window
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| At a town that knows me well
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| The dew is on the clover
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| The morning sun is gold
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| A blackbird calls out from the heath
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| A song that’ll never grow old
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| Grow old
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| Grow old (to my roots, to my roots, to my roots, to my roots)
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| Grow old (to my roots, to my roots, to my roots, to my roots)
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| To my roots, to my roots
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| To my roots, I am returning |