| So there’s hundreds of auburn alabama acres
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| with rows of red roofs over warm farmers daughters
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| who’ve got no intention of inviting me in
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| space shines all above me so i settle myself under it.
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| when i wake up i’m back in my crowded city apartment
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| some random men doing work off in the kitchen
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| stacking mattresses up now to the ceiling and down to the floor.
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| my fathers sick in the hallway i hear him whistlin under the door.
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| i rush to lift him but you all know i am weak and you know that he is heavy.
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| there’s no blood in his cheeks but he’s smiling straight at me.
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| i ask the thickest of the workers «would you please come and help me out?»
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| he comes ambling over and says «sir, i love how your whistling sounds»
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| so now i drag him through the kitchen to the living room and down on the carpet
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| he says, «son i’m embarassed, but the sides of my head hurt.
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| i just know that i’m tired and i could surely use some rest.»
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| i tear a mattress down for him and i say, «here dad sleep some on this.»
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| i wake for real and it’s over.
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| i’m alone in acres and my dad is still dead.
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| but if you underneath one of those rooftops, look out your window and invite me
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| on in.
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| 'cause it’s cold and i’m lonely and i could sure use a friend
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| yeah it’s cold and i’m lonely and i could sure use a friend.
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| it’s cold and i’m lonely and i could sure use a friend yeah |