Right outside this lazy summer home
You ain't got time to call your soul a critic, no
Right outside the lazy gate of winter's summer home
Wonderin' where the nut-thatch winters
Wings a mile long just carried the bird away
Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world
The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own
Wake now, discover that you are the song that the morning brings
But the heart has its seasons, its evenings, and songs of its own
There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away
There follows his wagon behind him that's loaded with clay
And the seeds that were silent all burst into bloom and decay
And night comes so quiet, it's close on the heels of the day.
Sometimes we live no particular way but our own
Sometimes we visit your country and live in your home
Sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone
Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own
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