| Well, I made a promise to not let go
|
| Our tug of war has only made me want you more
|
| Now steeped in hard luck and doomed to roam
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| My love is braver than you know
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| My forefathers, they worked this land
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| And I was schooled in the tyranny of nature’s plans
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| And dressed in thunder, a cloud came around
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| Oh, in the shape of a lion, a hand came down
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| Now, damn this valley and damn this cold
|
| Well, it takes so long to let me know
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| It’s plant, and reap, and plow, and sow
|
| But tell me, will it grow?
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| Dig my ditches in the golden sun
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| And I’d be robbing these trains if I could catch me one
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| Now, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday’s gone
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| And got me stone-cold sober in a drought so long
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| Boarded mansions and ghost-filled yards
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| Now, there’s a boy in a water-tower counting cars
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| Steel trap open and empty stalls
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| Now, there’s a well-worn saddle, but the horse is gone
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| Now, damn this valley and damn this cold
|
| It takes so long to let me know
|
| It’s plant, and reap, and plow, and sow
|
| But tell me, will it grow? |
| (Will it grow?)
|
| Jet black starlit midnight rolls
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| And I am down in the garden where I let you go
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| Up on the surface, the earth looks round
|
| But it’s a godless city of cold flat ground
|
| Now, damn this valley and damn this cold
|
| It takes so long to let me know
|
| It’s plant, and reap, and plow, and sow
|
| But tell me, will it grow?
|
| Will it grow?
|
| Will it grow?
|
| Will it grow? |