| She came to me, said she knew me
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| Said she’d known me a long time
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| And she spoke of being in love
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| With every mountain she had climbed
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| And she talked of trails she’d walked up
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| Far above the timberline
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| From that night on I knew I’d write songs
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| For Carolina in the pines
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| There’s a new moon on the fourteenth
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| First quarter, the twenty first
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| And the full moon in the last week
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| Brings a fullness to this earth
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| There’s no guesswork in the clockwork
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| On the worlds part or mine
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| There are nights I only feel right
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| With Carolina in the pines
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| When the frost shows on the windows
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| And the wood stove smokes and glows
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| As the fire grows, we will warm our souls
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| Watching rainbows in the cove
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| And we’ll talk of trails we’ve walked up
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| Far above the timberline
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| There are nights I only feel right
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| With Carolina in the pines |