| Sleeping, waking, crying, leaving again
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| It’s morning I have to go
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| Though every night pretends
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| Begins in quiet hoping that it never ends
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| They’re always ending again
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| Breaking another dream
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| A dream where we could breathe
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| In the heavy curtained Prairie air of summer night
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| Watching lightning over wheat fields
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| Through a bedroom window
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| And the prairie gently rose up
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| With a feeling and embraced us
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| And when morning found us
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| I pulled you to me and promised to stay
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| But that was the night and now day
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| In the wee small hours of the morning
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| While the whole wide world is fast asleep
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| You lie awake and think about the girl
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| And never ever think of counting sheep
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| And when your lonely heart has learned its lesson
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| You’d be hers if only she would call
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| For in the wee small hours of the morning
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| That’s the time you miss her most of all |