| Drive me slow, down the road
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| Sound the horn on every bend
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| Bow your heads, respect the dead
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| For he had many, many friends
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| Now follow the road, through the tunnel of trees
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| To the big, wide open field
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| And take a left, up the muddy track
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| To the house where I grew up…
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| And here is the place, when I die
|
| I want you to bury me
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| Beneath this old, willow tree
|
| Enough of an epitaph for me
|
| And here is the place, when I die
|
| I want you to bury me
|
| These friendly roots will hold my bones
|
| And I will never be alone
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| Stop the car, on the track
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| Stoop to kiss me — I can’t kiss you back
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| Shed no tears, for all the years
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| You’ve made up for what I lacked
|
| And heave me up, to head height
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| On the shoulders of my friends
|
| And lay me down, on the lawn
|
| When all the curtains have been drawn…
|
| And here is the place, when I die
|
| I want you to bury me
|
| Beneath this old, willow tree
|
| Enough of an epitaph for me
|
| And here is the place, when I die
|
| I want you to bury me
|
| These friendly roots will hold my bones
|
| And I will never be alone |