Along old fence lines
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Truth rings like the music of a mockingbird,
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Where a man is still as worthy as his word...
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Along old fence lines.
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And I see my grandpa resting by that old Artesian well,
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Ah, there's watermelon dripping down my chin,
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The ladies in their finest dresses coming out for church,
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And so I guess it must be Wednesday evening...
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Along old fence lines.
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Across old bridges
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Are fragments of a world that didn't turn so fast,
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But if you were headed somewhere, friend, they'd let you past...
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Across old bridges.
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And I see those kids on Shetland ponies out near Clifton's Store,
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The old men playing checkers by the gate,
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And Haggard's singin' "Mama Tried" somewhere along the dial,
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And I believe it must be about 1968...
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Across old bridges.
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There's a place between this two-lane highway and the past,
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Where old friends pass gently through my mind.
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I see them for a moment, then they slowly slip away,
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And melt back through the distant lens of time,
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Along old fence lines...
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Across old bridges...
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Beside old rail yards...
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Along old fence lines.
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Along Old Fence Lines
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Brian Burns |