When I was a child and the road was dark and the way was long and alone,
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My heart would lift as I turned the bend and saw the lights of home.
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Now high above in a silent sky,
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In a still and starry space,
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A man looks down on the earth below,
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And that blue and green and shining glow,
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To him is the lights of home.
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It's the good earth, yes the good earth.
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It's a land of sun and rain and snow,
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And mulberry trees and mistletoe,
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And burning plains and raging seas,
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And Sunday morning taking your ease,
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Watching your children grow.
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It's the good earth, yes the good earth,
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Where we fought and loved and killed and died,
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And ruined and ravished the countryside,
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But now, from a million miles away,
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From another world that's cold and gray,
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Someone is able to look and say,
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"That's the good earth."
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So isn't it time we stopped the tears?
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We've lived together for thousands of years,
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And whether I'm wrong, and whether you're right,
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Whether you're black, and whether I'm white,
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One day we'll stand on the edge of the world,
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And someone will ask us the land of our birth,
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And we'll look into his eyes and quietly say:
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"It's the good earth, yes the good earth."
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Why can't we be good on the good earth?
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The Good Earth
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Monkees |