| Spring, spring. |
| flowers blossom and bloom
|
| Squirrel, squirrel. |
| jump down onto my roof
|
| Sparrow, Cardinal, hummingbird
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| Redwood, holly tree, juniper…
|
| The service moves slowly through the hills
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| Faint sound of the highway
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| Night sets on the church of pines
|
| Ending the day, they laid down to rest
|
| From my room, I look at the street
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| And see the youths passing along
|
| While I unwind, head in a song
|
| And in my bed, I play the guitar
|
| I loosen the strings 'til I find a tone
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| And if it don’t come… then I put it down
|
| Howl, howl. |
| dogs of the neighborhood
|
| Moon glow, over the gravestones
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| Dense vines, strangle the black oaks
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| The lamp light, the fallen fence posts
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| The sun rises over the tree line…
|
| With welcoming morning light
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| Day sets on the church of pines
|
| One day we’ll all. |
| be laid to rest
|
| From the hills I look up at stars
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| And feel the darkness swell like a bruise
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| And in my head, I’m playing with words
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| I scramble and strain to find the right ones
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| Sometimes there are none
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| Sometimes they don’t come |