| Well I can’t sleep with all these hand-me-downs
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| Battered up chests and faded dreams
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| Every new life seems to spin away
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| Like sand escaping through the seams
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| Send me a letter from Omaha
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| Said a needle or thread could mend the tears
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| But tonight the cotton fields, they
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| Smell like calico
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| And the color of your hair
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| Stars stand against the lonely blue
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| Like pin-pricks made by midnight hands
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| They tried to sew you a pure white dress
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| Got tied up in the misdeeds and demands
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| Cotton burned all brown and wasted
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| Like an innocence fell to disrepair
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| But tonight the ashes, they
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| Smell like calico
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| And the color of your hair
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| If I could have my one and only wish
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| I’d sew your hair all to the lining of my shirt
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| I’d stand in the noon day clean and golden
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| Not the color of the dry land dirt
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| Send me a letter from Omaha
|
| Said a needle or thread could mend the tears
|
| But tonight the sugarcane, it
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| Smells like calico
|
| And the color of your hair |