| Here I am standing firm
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| As the ground shakes beneath me
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| I send you away with my own hand
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| I try and try to remember that for now it’s for the better
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| But there’s a Southern kind of tragic blowing in
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| And it feels like the beginning of the end
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| Well the Alabama moon fell from the sky
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| And the sweet tea wells ran dry
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| Somewhere out there you’re finding yourself
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| But back home it’s the end of time
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| I’m scared to death
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| Pick up your phone
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| Outside I hear the bells ringing
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| Bringing ruin to all that we have ever known
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| Pick up your phone
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| I need an answer
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| Come home and call off disaster
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| 'Cause I fear tonight our Cotton Land might fall
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| Oh I’m cracking like the plaster on the wall
|
| Well the Alabama moon fell from the sky
|
| And the sweet tea wells ran dry
|
| Somewhere out there you’re finding yourself
|
| But back home it’s the end of time
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| It’s the end of time
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| Is it the end of all time
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| Or just the end of mine
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| Well all of the cotton died in the fields
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| The little babies cried the blue from their eyes
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| Somewhere I’ll bet you’re living it up
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| But come home before the end
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| The Alabama moon fell from the sky
|
| And the sweet tea wells ran dry
|
| Somewhere out there you’re finding yourself
|
| But back home it’s the end of time
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| Come home and be mine
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| Come home, come home |