Nomads in rags who have seen a million lands
Tell me that there's no such thing as “home”
Every mountain top, and abandoned parking lot
Is just a resting stop
And Mr. Hermit in his house drinks his burgundy and stout
Tells me that there's no place quite like home
And if you can believe it son, I never wanna leave it, boy
I tell you so
And I can't help but feel
I feel a little homesick, In my homestead
Yeah I'm homesick in my home
Well, I can't be living right to keep my shoes on every night
And sleeping sound with one foot out that door
I know the open road has its promise, so I'm told
I don't need to be sold
And all the twists, and the turns in the roads around the world
Will change the sights, but sure won't change the feel
The hermit may shine, but the nomad in my mind won't
Give up the fight
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