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.