| We go outside in the sun for the last hours of the day, for the best hours of the day
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| Our heads are sore from the day we’ve had or the night before
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| But our worries seem to pass when we lay down on the grass
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| In the dwindling light of the sun
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| In the arms of your only one
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| When the wait and the work has been done
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| Is this home? |
| Is this home?
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| I could be wrong — so what? |
| We won’t be young for long
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| And there are trees outside for us to climb
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| In case we grow too old before our time
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| In the dwindling light of the sun
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| In the arms of your only one
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| When the wait and the work has been done
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| Is this home? |
| Is this home?
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| At the prettiest part of the day
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| When the sunset starts out on her way
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| And his arms and his lips seem to say
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| This is home, this is home. |