in Andalucia, past valley and dale
      run the golden, sunflower fields
      and a hut is a house that stands all alone
      ivy and flowers have overtaken stone
      and the rusty, old Santa Fe door
      and warm, pink clay floor
      this is the home I've seen these years
      a dream welded with passions tears.

      Climb the peaks of the Rockies tall
      off the edge, don't tread or fall.
      Hear the sound of the bald eagles cry
      the flash of summer lightning in the sky
      breathe in deep the mountain air
      come to my cabin, find me there.

      Home is where the heart is
      that is what they say
      dreamers dreaming escapes,
      every single day.
      I've built mine on the sands of my sleep
      water my gardens with the emotion I weep.

      Swim in the blue seas, fair and calm
      the salty air a warm, sweet balm
      feel the sand, clinging to your feet
      walk the golden expanse of a deserted beach.
      Find a hammock, swinging ever more
      who needs a key to a sunshine-built door?

      Roll in the grass of a swollen, green plain
      made lush after days of endless gray rain.
      Wicked sun, both hot and cold
      the breeze runs rampant, the fields unfold.
      Wheat meet Wood, tall and strong
      trees that grow, bows lush and long.
      Build me a palace within these leaves
      a kingdom of green amongst these trees.

      Home is where the heart is
      that is what they say
      dreamers dreaming escapes,
      every single day.
      I've built mine on the sands of my sleep
      water my gardens with the emotion I weep.

      Home is where the heart is
      that is what they say
      escapes etched in cavern walls
      in the sunlight of the day.
      Scribe a vision which never was
      plot it in the starry sky—
      Home; the dream, just because...
      it hurts so much to lie.