I stand upon the hills back home,
looking yonder, down the valleys.
Knowing each and every road,
around the river raging madly.

And I've returned where it began,
where I never thought to get out.
So many streams down here have passed,
under the bridges around our town.

And I have returned where I once roamed,
to break bond with the blues and gust.
Where I thought dreams died to be boned,
as the rocks in the river, shattered them to dust.

And I stand here again, a lonesome melody I whistle,
looking over yonder, down the deep, dark woods.
Where every fallen fir, is weeping in riddles,
that only the lonely could ever understood.

And I hear them howling still, it echoes in the hills,
to the beat of the driftwood rollin' down the river.
And as driftwood I am; I always was and always will,
and as restless as the currents thunderous fever.

It's here I grew to learn, never to fade, better to burn;
like a wildfire in the firs, devouring the outermost.
'Til the day the floodgates burst, to quench an everlasting thirst;
a lonesome, homesick blues, that will be my ghost.