| I’m walking on hallowed ground
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| I’m breathing in ancient air
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| I’m hearing a long lost sound from the water down there
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| It’s a distant beat pulsing through the heat
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| Of the long ago
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| I’m walking on hallowed ground
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| I’m stepping on sacred bones
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| Another new fossil found in the silt and the stones
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| Just beyond this hill, in the sultry still
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| Of the summer
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| I am trying to find something I left behind
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| In the long ago
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| I’m walking on hallowed ground
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| I’m holding my daughter’s hand
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| I’m taking a look around where my dad used to stand
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| When he’d watch me play on some sun-scorched day
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| In the long ago
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| I’m following faded trails
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| From when I was twelve years old
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| I’m fishing out new details in the stories I’ve told
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| Like the hearts I broke, like the truth unspoken
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| In the summer
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| Turn a corner, and then I am right back again
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| In the long ago
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| See that kid in the breeze?
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| I keep telling him, «Easy does it»
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| That’s the problem with him
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| It was never that simple, really, was it?
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| I’m walking on hallowed ground
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| I’m checking out every clue |
| I’m seeing my life unwound and assembled anew
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| Then I hear that line, «Dad, relax, I’m fine»
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| And she’s running off
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| And she’ll stand here one day, watching me walk away
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| In the long ago
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| You can run, you can learn, but you’ll always return
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| To the long ago |