| Older brother, restless soul, lie down
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| Lie for a while with your ear against the earth
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| And you’ll hear your sister sleep talking
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| Say, «Your hair is long but not long enough to reach
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| Home to me
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| But your beard
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| Someday might be»
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| And she’ll wake up in a cold sweat on the floor
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| Next to a family portrait drawn when you were four
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| And beside a jar of two cent coins that are no good no more
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| She’ll lay it aside
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| Older father, weary soul, you’ll drive
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| Back to the home you made on the mountainside
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| With that ugly, terrible thing
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| Those papers for divorce and a lonely ring
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| A lonely ring
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| Sit on your porch
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| And pluck your strings
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| And you’ll find somebody you can blame
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| And you’ll follow the creek that runs out into the sea
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| And you’ll find the peace of the Lord
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| Grandfather, weary soul, you’ll fly
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| Over your life once more before you die
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| Since our grandma passed away
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| You’ve waited for forever and a day
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| Just to die
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| And someday soon
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| You will die
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| It was the only woman you ever loved
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| That got burnt by the sun too often when she was young
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| And the cancer spread
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| And it ran into her body and her blood
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| And there’s nothing you can do about it now |