INDIANA
LOUIS ARMSTRONG
I have always been a wand'rer
Over land and sea
Yet a moonbeam on the water
Casts a spell o'er me
A vision fair I see
Again I seem to be
Back home again in Indiana,
And it seems that I can see
The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright,
Through the sycamores for me.
The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
Through the fields I used to roam.
When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,
How I long for my Indiana home.
Fancy paints on mem'ry's canvas
Scenes that we hold dear
We recall them in days after
Clearly they appear
And often times I see
A scene that's dear to me
Back home again in Indiana,
And it seems that I can see
The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright,
Through the sycamores for me.
The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
Through the fields I used to roam.
When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,
How I long for my Indiana home.
Over land and sea
Yet a moonbeam on the water
Casts a spell o'er me
A vision fair I see
Again I seem to be
Back home again in Indiana,
And it seems that I can see
The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright,
Through the sycamores for me.
The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
Through the fields I used to roam.
When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,
How I long for my Indiana home.
Fancy paints on mem'ry's canvas
Scenes that we hold dear
We recall them in days after
Clearly they appear
And often times I see
A scene that's dear to me
Back home again in Indiana,
And it seems that I can see
The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright,
Through the sycamores for me.
The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
Through the fields I used to roam.
When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,
How I long for my Indiana home.
