Pagoda

Up the hill from Portugal Not the country, the street Propped amongst these pathways, a lone magnolia leans Arms wide open, littering the ground The petals, once blossoms, assemble in a mound So long in your abandon So long your roots must reach The plea for restoration, commencing at your feet Well, it wasn't wasted motion, you are strikingly alive There is no misplacement, transcend the times Light upon a beacon, you were always reaching The nighttime, the lifetimes, they waltzed on by To the pulse of pagoda, the beat of pagoda The feeling, I know ya, and I feel, I feel alright The places you go back to, the swelling of a creek You could dive right into, what never seemed that deep (whoa) Well, it wasn't wasted motion (whoa), it wasn't wasted time (whoa) And just like this pagoda (whoa), I see you all the time A lone magnolia, like the one in your backyard Light upon a beacon, you were always reaching The nighttime, the lifetimes, they waltzed on by To the pulse of pagoda, the beat of pagoda The feeling, I know ya, and I feel (I feel), I feel (I) I (I-I-I), feel alright