It's a wonder why I cannot see my home

I've turned to North Carolina
been there dressed in collared shirts
workin my days sweatin in the farm
I've been swept by the prairie winds
which nearly blew away the cucumbers cuddled in my arms.
But when i stepped onto the train
i never saw how much i gained until it drove away.
In my room i sit with my memory; my mandolin i bought down south.
I could sing the tunes,
but i swear i'm blind,
On long island I cant see the peaceful and the kind.

Although I'm sitting in the house i was raised in,
it's a wonder why i cannot see my home.


I remember back in the okra field
and carrying eggs from that chicken shield
two buckets always in my hands
carrying the peace which made me a man.

Sooner or later i'd then realize
the life i just lived in north carolina
I was cleansed of the northeast-coast lies,

Now i'm back in my northeast-coast life
withering away until that light is shown again...
It's a wonder why i cannot see my home.