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Homemade Wine |
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Shawn Mullins |
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|
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Sixty miles from El Paso |
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Feelin' lonesome as can be |
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Driving further from the heartache |
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That was slowly killing me |
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I left at 4 AM last Monday |
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Filled my tank at Luther's store |
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I might be checkin' in come Sunday |
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'Cause I know by then she'll walk the floor |
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She has it still inside her skull |
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That I am hers and she is mine |
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She's dead on empty and I am full |
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Of broken dreams and homemade wine |
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There's a kid who plays the squeezebox |
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On the border bridge on the Juarez side |
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He dances to the beat |
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With no shoes on his feet |
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To the music that he makes as I drive by |
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And I felt just like the devil the whole night's pull |
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But right this second I feel fine |
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My tank is dead on empty, but I am full |
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Of broken dreams and homemade wine |
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Now the gulf wind she sings to me a love song |
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I can hear her from the boxcar that I ride |
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Her voice is in my brain |
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Making music with this train |
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That will soon take me to the other side |
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And she might think that I'm coming back |
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To hold her close and stop her cryin' |
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But this freight train's |
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Traveling down a southbound track |
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Full of broken dreams and homemade wine |
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Just broken dreams and homemade wine |
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Broken dreams and homemade wine |
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------the end------ |