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I met you in the morning, we packed our things and disappeared like ghosts
We drove for forty hours through the darkness and the drifting of the snow
Cut north through north Dakota for the border and the limits that we know
And I braced myself for questions: “is that my brother” and “where’d that painting go?”
Is this my home?
That’s how we spent our Christmases, wondering what makes a place a home
It may not be where my heart is, but it sure as hell is where my heart was grown
If the horseshoe’s where the flowers bloom, the prairies are still where those seeds were sown
I guess when it comes down to it, it’s not where you are but who it is you know
I’m going there, I’m going there, I’m going to prepare a place for you
And there are many beds and many rooms and many sunlit hallways to wander through