Morning has come,
|
With the first rays of sun,
|
Breakin' through our window pane.
|
Songs fill the air,
|
But there's no singer there,
|
Just an old wooden guitar playin'.
|
|
Writing a song,
|
Won't take very long,
|
Trying not to use the word "old".
|
Thinking about,
|
Taking chances and doubts,
|
That still linger in the cold.
|
|
Looking forward,
|
All that I can see,
|
Is good things happening
|
to you and to me.
|
I'm not waiting,
|
For times to change.
|
I'm going to live,
|
Like a free-roamin' soul,
|
On the highway of our love.
|
|
Looking forward,
|
All that I can see,
|
Is good things happening
|
to you and to me.
|
I'm not waiting,
|
For times to change.
|
I want to live,
|
Like a free-roamin' soul,
|
On the highway of our love.
|
|
Morning has come,
|
With the first rays of sun,
|
Breaking through our window pane.
|
Songs fill the air,
|
But there's no singer there,
|
Just an old wooden guitar playin'.
|
|
-----------------
|
Highway Of Our Love
|
| Neil Young |
