In my mind I see a picture and my thoughts begin to roam
to the rowlden hills and valleys that surround my childhood home
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I can almost smell the flowers growing wild along the track down to the stream.
I hear grandpa telling stories sitting on the front porch swing
scattered all around are pages of the songs that I would sing
and there I am cross legged on a dream
I'd sing coat of many colours, I knew every word by heart
and I'd fumble through the changes on an old flat top guitar
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make believe the city hills rolled into the smokey mountains tennessee.
I'd swap bubble gum for curtain calls with other kids my age
and the shows would last for hours on the Opry tree house stage
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and the dreams of little children echoe still, on Blackwood hill.
I recall the day I packed my bags and waved Blackwood goodbye
rowlden hills were in my rear view mirror, stars were in my eyes
and I traded hairbrush microphones and tree house shows for lights and centre stage.
sometimes the road I lived on leads me back to my old world
on the front porch of my childhood home sits a little girl
her innocence helps me turn back the page,
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Every day was full of music, family and best friends.
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troubles of the world erased, by games of lets pretend.
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The little girl inside of me is dreaming still, on blackwood hill.