People back home know everything there is |
To know about me |
I can be gone for years and |
Still theyll know |
Where I’ve been |
I read an article in the paper about |
People like me |
Thought I’d outrun them by now |
But then back home |
They always see everything that I see |
Before me |
Bridge: |
People back home tell every story |
There is to tell about me |
And the stories they come up with |
Are most of the time true |
Me I get confused by looking in the mirror |
The only time I recognize myself |
Is when I look at my dad |
And get nervous from having to grow old |
Without him |
There’s a corner in my heart |
For the folks back home |
Bridge: |
And my daddy says I should always remember |
My story |
’cause there will come a time |
When all the folks back home will die |
And that one day I will sit my children down |
And tell them every story there is to tell |
About the folks back home |
How they knew everything |
There was to know about me |
And I’ll look at them and hope that |
One day I could say the same |
There’s a corner in my heart |
For the folks back home |