Last night I dreamed we found a stand of trees, framing a pond and a field in between
And with a hammer and a blade and our four hands, here's what we made.
The logs we peeled and stacked in a ring, and then we crowned it, our tiny house with tin.
And by the fire, flickering bronze and gold across your face, I heard you say:
[Chorus:]
"It may not be a grand parade of snow capped peaks, o-o-oh
no river silver-backed crashing through, o-oh o-o-oh
but we have our black-haired babes running free through the woods."
Uuuuh
[Break]
Squirrels in the rafters, wrens in the eaves
Red dirt neath our nails, orange stains on our knees,
Blackberries in June down the path without our shoes.
[Chorus]
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