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Sep 2017
There’s no tracks for me to cross in my neighborhood
So I don’t know which side I’m on
There’s no land for me to plant any seeds upon
I don’t know if I’m a duck or a swan
But I know I’m welcome on any backwoods pond

I could sing about things I never understood
And I could say if I believe it then it must be true
It takes too long for the past to make itself known to you
It’s easier to recite the things I already knew
Maybe something I heard sitting in a wooden pew

I’m the father because he was born next to where I stood
I didn’t say anything because the bus already ran
On the road upon which try to cross but never can
We’re turtles walking slow without a plan
Nobody knows anything so our shell became the holy land

The last time I crossed my heart my promise was good
I wanted say oh baby and let it last long in your ear
But you were interested in flags that you held dear
I agreed but then it’s not always so clear
We had no complaints but then we never did live in fear
Mark Lecuona
Written by
Mark Lecuona
293
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