| I’d like to think I don’t have roots yet,
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| Still some traveling in me.
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| Should have worn back packs through Europe,
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| Back when I turned 23.
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| There’s still Ireland and the Orients and Temples, I’m sure.
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| Places you go, to learn who you are.
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| I’ve got to keep looking
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| And someday I’ll be in the place where I feel most like me.
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| I could be cooking in Paris and needing nobody at all.
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| I could move back to my hometown,
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| Meet a good man and we’d fall in love.
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| We’d have family and birthdays and cars,
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| Never concerned about who we are.
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| A life that’s so stable and nice,
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| could it be a place where I feel most like me?
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| I can’t help wishing I could stay right here,
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| Not moving, not rushing, just breathing in air,
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| Not thinking, not worrying, just look to the sea,
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| The place where I feel most like me. |