| Traveling through the graveyard
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| With a suitcase full of sparks
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| Honey, I’m just trying to find my way to you
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| I lit up every campfire
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| I found out in the dark
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| Oh, I cut down all the cottonwood
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| I picked up all the arrowheads off buffalo trails of the Indians
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| The Oklahoma sky was cutting through
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| Along the tracks with the Runaway
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| He just talks and talks and talks
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| Honey, I’m just trying to find my way to you
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| I quit counting stars that night in the cold by the satellite field
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| And I quit panning gold
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| Digging holes
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| Yeah, I’m just trying to find my way to you
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| Swam across the Poncha
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| Took a train to Cataloo
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| Opened up my guitar case and all the songs were blue
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| I haunted all the alleys
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| Lord, I drifted down the valleys
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| Honey, I’m just trying to find my way to you
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| And I quit casting hooks off the California coast we held so dear
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| And I quit flashing smiles, and running wild
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| Yeah, I’m just trying to find my way to you
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| Threw my bottle to the ocean
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| She never wrote me back
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| All the countless days along the sea of blue
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| Learned the language of the Mockingbird
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| She took and twisted all my words
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| Yeah, I’m just trying to find my way to you
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| And I’ll meet you in the graveyard
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| With the winter trees and stars
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| Oh, we could open up this suitcase full of sparks |