| Mighty long shifts are for working
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| Heavy dreams are for toting around
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| Let’s pretend there’s a place to go
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| Where I can lay this hacksaw down
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| And I’ve been trying all my damndest
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| To get where a kind woman lies
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| Ten more hours to a twelve long shift
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| 'Til these woods turn to her eyes
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| The timber cuts so cleanly
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| Monday morning when the blades are sharp
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| I get a love song stuck in my head
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| And cut sequoia 'til it’s dark
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| If every hour’s fourteen dollars or a chance closer to her
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| Then I’m not just a working mule, I’m the finest of the herd
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| And I don’t know who she is or if she might exist
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| But if she does I swear to love I’m destined for that kiss
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| How’s a man get so homesick
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| For a face he’s never seen?
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| I close my eyes while sweating
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| And think of boys I could’ve been
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| But I know that it’s not over
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| 'Cause I feel her here somewhere
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| Through these trees and melodies
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| That I’m belting to the air
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| If every hour’s fourteen dollars or a chance closer to it
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| The man I thought I’d be when I was just a kid
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| So I’ll just saw away and let the maul fall to the ground
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| Hope to heaven someone hears me
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| Even though no ones around
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| Mighty long shifts are for working
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| Quiet dreams are for toting around
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| Let’s pretend there’s a place to go
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| Where I can lay this hacksaw down |