| My roots are deeper than the bones the others
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| My colors they change with the sun
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| My branches we’re higher than anything on the hillside
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| On the day that I watched them all come
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| Some were the color of the sky in the winter
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| Some were as blue as the night
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| They came like a storm with the light of the morn
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| And they fell thru the whole day and night
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| Colors flew high and they danced in the sky
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| As I watched them come over the hill
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| Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder
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| Such a great number lay still
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| When the light came again there was death on the wind
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| As the buzzards made way for the worms
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| And the little white trees that don’t bend in the breeze
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| For the ones that will never return
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| The colors flew high and they danced in the sky
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| As I watched them come over the hill
|
| Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder
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| Such a great number lay still
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| Those that have fallen they come when I call them
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| And answer the best that they can
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| But all they can see is what they used to be
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| And that’s all that they understand
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| The colors flew high and they danced in the sky
|
| As I watched them come over the hill
|
| Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder
|
| Such a great number lay still
|
| Colors flew high and they danced in the sky
|
| As I watched them come over the hill
|
| Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder |