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In the quiet misty morning
when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their
singing and the sky is clear and red.
When the summer’s ceased its
gleaming,
When the corn is past its
prime,
When adventure’s lost its
meaning,
I’ll be homeward bound in
time.
Bind me not to the pasture,
chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling
and I’ll return to you somehow.
If you find it’s me you're
missing, if you’re hoping I’ll return.
To your thoughts I’ll soon
be list’ning, and in the road I’ll stop and turn.
Then the wind will set me
racing as my journey nears its end.
And the path I’ll be
retracing when I’m homeward bound again.
Bind me not to the pasture,
chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my
calling and I’ll return to you somehow.
In the quiet misty morning
when the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows stop their
singing,
I’ll be homeward bound
again.
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