| In the quiet misty morning
|
| When the moon has gone to bed
|
| When the sparrows stop their singing
|
| And the sky is clear and red
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| When the summer’s ceased its gleaming
|
| When the corn is past its prime
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| When adventure’s lost its meaning
|
| I’ll be homeward bound in time
|
| Bind me not to the pasture
|
| Chain me not to the plow
|
| Set me free to find my calling
|
| And I’ll return to you somehow
|
| If you find it’s me you’re missing
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| If you’re hoping I’ll return
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| To your thoughts I’ll soon be list’ning
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| And in the road I’ll stop and turn
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| Then the wind will set me racing
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| As my journey nears its end
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| And the path I’ll be retracing
|
| When I’m homeward bound again
|
| Bind me not to the pasture
|
| Chain me not to the plow
|
| Set me free to find my calling
|
| And I’ll return to you somehow
|
| In the quiet misty morning
|
| When the moon has gone to bed
|
| When the sparrows stop their singing
|
| I’ll be homeward bound again |