| Fire and brimstone fell upon my ears
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| As their throats of open graves recited fear
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| Like the bullets of a gun they drove my tears
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| And my feet to run the hell out of here
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| See, I was born a restless, wayward child
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| I could hear the whole world calling me outside
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| Of the masses I routinely sat behind
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| And Lord, I had to see with my own eyes
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| Take me home
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| I want to go
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| Down the road that will take me
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| To the living oak
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| Lord, I know
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| That I’m weathered stone
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| But I owe it to my brothers
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| To carry them home
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| Take me home
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| I want to go
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| Down the road that will take me
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| To the living oak
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| Lord, I know
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| That I’m weathered stone
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| But I owe it to my brothers
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| To carry them home
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| Take me home
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| I want to go
|
| Down the road that will take me
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| To the living oak
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| Lord, I know
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| It’s a heavy load
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| But we’ll carry our brothers
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| Oh, we’ll carry them home
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| And oh, there is no power on Earth or below
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| That could ever break our hearts or shake our souls
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| And when you lay me down, you’ll only bury bones
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| 'Cause oh, my heart and soul are going home |