Usually take one last pass through town
|
Stop the car and touch the ground
|
Watch those streetlights swayina¢æ¢â in the breeze
|
Decorated store fronts
|
Rusty old gas pumps
|
Try to fill my mind up
|
With somethina¢æ¢â before I go
|
Picture postcard memories
|
You know they always make for good company
|
|
I dona¢æ¢ât know no town
|
Like the old town
|
Even when the miles are many
|
I feel like Ia¢æ¢âm still around
|
Deep inside me
|
Like rings through an oak tree
|
Yeah, there something a¢æ?bout a Sunday when Ia¢æ¢âm gone
|
That keeps me turning home
|
|
Ia¢æ¢âm standina¢æ¢â here beneath these billboard lights
|
Takes me back to those autumn nights
|
Hometown bleachers packed real tight
|
As we marched down the field
|
My feet would swing from a dropped tailgate
|
Out on Airport Road real late
|
No one could walk a line too straight
|
We usually made it home alright
|
And glory days I cant re-live
|
Stories Ia¢æ¢âll never forget
|
|
And I dona¢æ¢ât know no friends
|
Like the old friends
|
I never seem to laugh now
|
Like I did with them
|
But deep inside me
|
A piece of history
|
Yeah, I hear their voices even though theya¢æ¢âre gone
|
And it keeps me turning home
|
|
Never twice the same way does it start
|
And sure enough she stole my heart
|
On the old gym floor, spinnina¢æ¢â round and round one night
|
And though we both tried hard to wait
|
We sure did love the taste
|
Of the sweet love being made and prayina¢æ¢â I got it right
|
Graduation came and went
|
Along with all the time we spent
|
|
And I dona¢æ¢ât know no love
|
Like the first love
|
When I think about the best times
|
Shea¢æ¢âs the one I think of
|
Deep inside me
|
All though the taste is bittersweet
|
I see her smilina¢æ¢â even though shea¢æ¢âs gone
|
And it keeps me turning home, yeah
|
And it keeps me turning home
|
|
-----------------
|
Turning Home
|
| David Nail |
