| I was taught to be proud of where I come from
|
| And I’m so sad that I’m the only one
|
| Like a cold preacher boy talking only to himself
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| How did he think that he got to promised lands?
|
| Sometimes I’m confused and I don’t know where I’m going
|
| Mistaking gentle rivers for that cold wind a-blowing
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| I’m always sure of an angel when she gets here
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| But I never see her coming and I miss her when she disappears
|
| Gone, gone, gone
|
| Not gone for long
|
| If you’re taught to be proud of where you come from
|
| Gone, gone, gone
|
| Not gone for long
|
| If you’re taught to be proud of where you come from
|
| It’s hard to be cool when you’re playing for the prophets;
|
| They really know if you got it or you lost it
|
| I’ll sing this song but I don’t know where it came from
|
| Reminds me of a mountainside to stand upon and gently hum
|
| Gone, gone, gone
|
| Not gone for long
|
| If you’re taught to be proud of where you come from
|
| Gone, gone, gone
|
| Not gone for long
|
| If you’re taught to be proud of where you come from
|
| Sometimes I’m confused
|
| I don’t know where I’m going |
| Mistaking gentle rivers for that cold wind a-blowing
|
| And I’m always sure of an angel when she gets here
|
| But I never see her coming and I miss her when she disappears
|
| Gone, gone, gone
|
| Not gone for long
|
| If you’re taught to be proud of where you come from
|
| Gone, gone, gone
|
| Not gone for long
|
| If you’re taught to be proud of where you come from |