| Hold my hand and walk the ground softly
|
| We don’t want to wake the dead
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| Just want a little corn in our bread and settle down
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| Come on Little Caney you know the sun is sinking now
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| And we got to make it on out to where your branches lay
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| Marked by stones and covered by wildflowers
|
| Is family you’ve never known
|
| Rotten old clothes lying in boxes of bones
|
| I wish you could’ve been there when they all had souls
|
| So much soul
|
| Don’t get lost in the tall tall grass
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| It’s grown as high as you
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| I can see the graveyard peeking through the trees
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| And the scattered monuments of your kin
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| Reunited in the dirt
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| Only absent the hurt that living brings
|
| Marked by stones and covered by wildflowers
|
| Is family you’ve never known
|
| Rotten old clothes lying in boxes of bones
|
| I wish you could’ve been there when they all had souls
|
| So much soul
|
| Looky here Little Caney honey don’t you cry
|
| You know we’re all going to die someday
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| And the hand of another you’ll be holding tight
|
| When you walk out to the site where I lay
|
| Marked by stones and covered by wildflowers |
| Is family you’ve never known
|
| Rotten old clothes lying in boxes of bones
|
| I wish you could’ve been there when they all had souls
|
| So much soul
|
| Where did it go |