I left my heart in a plastic box
on the bedside table.
It will be locked 'til I get home.
I've grown feeble and tired of the world,
and tired of constantly missing my girl.
And I long to smell the sea
I miss the Pacific Ocean
and the northwest air,
and to run each of my fingers
through the strands of her hair.
I've been all over this country lately,
but I've been nowhere it seems, nowhere.
Well, I've found the cure
for my landlocked blues.
It's coming home to you.
If a simple seed gets just what it needs,
then a redwood tree can grow
up to a hundred feet for the world to see,
and endure the sleet and snow.
But if my whole life was wrapped and priced,
I wonder what the tag would show.
'Cause every time I'm close to the holy ghost,
I always seem to let her go.
I let her go.