| Have you ever stopped to linger when a clearing sale is done?
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| And the warmth of that old homestead seems to vanish with the sun
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| All the bidders have their bargains and the auctioneer is paid
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| And the twilight wraps the old home in its dreams of yesterday
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| The gate is swinging open as I take the lonely path
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| No welcome lights the window, no cheery blaze to warm the hearth
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| And I feel like an intruder as though I walk on sacred ground
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| Only silence comes to greet me for the shadows make no sound
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| There’s a rocker in a corner but it won’t rock no more
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| There’s a lucky horseshoe hanging still on a nail above the door
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| I step upon a child’s toy, hell, a broken tip truck red and blue
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| Oh I seem to hear a child laugh maybe you can hear it too?
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| I see my own reflection in a mirror on the wall
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| And a picture of a horse team lies forgotten in the hall
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| Just a few things no one bid for and now they’re set aside at last
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| Like the memories of the homestead now they’ll slip into the past
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| I wonder how the old man felt to see his tractor go?
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| And it must have hurt the old wife, though she’d never let it show
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| To see the things she had a lifetime now pass into other hands
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| No a clearing sale’s not easy friends when it’s time to leave the land
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| Just a few discarded relics of the days that used to be
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| And I leave them as I found them for what could they mean to me
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| Now the night is on the old house and the starlight softly gleams
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| As I close the gate behind me and leave the homestead with its dreams |