| Lyrics: | The View From Home
Bryan Bowers
Black crow sitting on a red
roof, house on a hill
Old yellow truck in the driveway got some miles on her still
Out
front the pavement's buckled where the roots have taken hold
To the south lies the mountain, a
glory to behold
Down on the lake, countless boats are sailing
Up on the shoreline, a
single figure runs
And off in the distance, the Cascades rise fiery
Burned in gold by the
setting sun
Up north lies Alaska, our last true frontier
Out west lies the ocean,
and Olympics so near
Back east lies madness, say what you will
Say I'm a maniac, singing
on a hill
Out on the road, we tell all the turkeys
Yes it's always raining and the
sun never shines
But all the natives know when the mountain lifts her skirts
The view from
home will flat-out melt your mind
@home
filename[ VIEWHOME
MC
===DOCUMENT
BOUNDARY |
