Here in the garden of my home
I sit and watch the flowers grown,
sometimes I think that I'm alone
here in the garden of my home.
My mind is falling down,
the spirit's all around,
someone is standing there
and now he's gone, I don't know where.
Sometimes I think I'm much too loud
and then I'm standing on a cloud,
it all depends on what I hear
and then again there's nothing clear.
I want to take a dive,
or watch a street car drive.
In spite of all I fall
and watch the colours on the wall.
Here in the garden of my home,
here in the garden of my home
I sit and watch the flowers grown,
and watch the flowers grown.
Sometimes I think that I'm alone,
I think that I am so alone
here in the garden of my home,
the garden of my home.
I want to take a dive
or watch a street car drive.
In spite of all I fall
and watch the colours on the wall.
Here in the garden of my home
I sit and watch the flowers grown.
Sometimes I think that I'm alone
here in the garden of my home,
here in the garden of my home,
here in the garden of my home.
Writer(s): Barry Alan Gibb, Robin Hugh Gibb, Maurice Ernest Gibb
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