Deep River Roots
Oh-oh,
yeah… From the branches to the ground,
Every story leaves a sound.
Generations come and go,
But the roots still let us know.
Grandma had a little house beneath the summer sun,
Grandpa worked the fields till the working day was done.
Two hearts, one table,
a family starting small,
A picture on the mantel,
memories on the wall.
Then came the autumn,
leaves falling like rain,
Somebody left this world,
somebody carried on the name.
A child took the lessons,
a child took the dreams,
And planted them in soil nobody else could see.
Through the winter, through the rain,
Through the sunshine and the pain,
Every tear and every smile Traveled down another mile.
These are my roots,
running deep in the ground,
Generations before me still holding me down.
When the storms start blowing and the cold winds blow,
I remember where I came from,
everywhere I go.
From the old oak tree to the brand-new leaves,
From the ones who stayed to the ones who had to leave,
Life keeps moving, but one thing stays true— I’m standing on the
roots of the ones who came through.
Mama told me stories ’bout the days before my birth,
How they made a little something out of almost nothing first.
Daddy had some scars but he carried them with pride,
Said, “Son, you gotta stumble if you wanna learn to fly.” Summer
turned to winter, then the spring came back around,
Kids became the parents,
and the parents left the town.
Names faded from the stones,
but the love never died,
You can lose somebody’s footsteps,
but not what they left inside.
One day I’ll be gone too,
And my children will grow tall.
They’ll tell another story About the ones before them all.
They’ll find my name in photographs,
Maybe hear my voice in songs,
And I hope they feel the strength Of knowing where they belong.
Roots…
roots… Deep beneath the soil.
Roots… roots… Love survives the toil.
From the mother to the father,
From the daughter to the son,
Every generation
Carries something from someone.
These are my roots,
running deep in the ground,
Generations before me still holding me down.
Through the summer and the winter,
Through the laughter and the tears,
I can feel them walking with me Through the turning of the
years. From the old oak tree to the brand-new leaves,
From the ones who stayed to the ones who had to leave,
And when my own story becomes something new,
I’ll plant another tree for the ones coming through.
So let the seasons change… Let the old leaves fall… New branches
reach the sky… But the roots remember all.
Roots…
That’s where we come from.
Roots… That’s where we belong.
Roots…
And when my days are through,
Some part of me
Will keep growing through you.