Faded Homestead

Way out where the tall pine trees reach for the morning sky,

I wake to the sound of hound dogs howlin’ as the sun

comes rising high, Old boots by the door,

flannel hanging on the wall,

Grab my gear and head down that dusty road before the morning

call,

Through the deep green pines where the cool wind whispers low,

Followin’ old trails where only the country folks know,

The hounds run ahead through the leaves,

their voices echo through the trees,

While golden sunlight breaks through the branches with the breeze,

Spendin’ long days out huntin’,

watchin’ wildlife cross the trail,

Listenin’ to the river roll and the distant coyote call,

Then when the evenin’ sky turns orange and the first stars start

to shine, We’ll head back down the country road with the hound

dogs by our side,

There’s a fire waitin’ on the porch and a cold night settin’

in, And tomorrow I’ll be back out there,

where the tall pines never end,

‘Cause this ain’t just a way of life,

it’s the place that feels like home — Wide open woods,

long dusty roads, and country skies as far as you can roam.

(yeah, home)