by tyler stenson © 2013 — ASCAP
Someone lost an awful lot when the West was won–
Someone had to leave it all behind.
They had to turn their back on the best coast line,
The one that hugs right up to the mountain’s spine
And where the waves all gather
Like children at a story time
Told by The Pines.
Yeah, someone lost an awful lot when the West was won–
Someone, but not I
Because I come from a long, long line of open spaces
And I was born where the river traces
All of the not-so-subtle graces
Of The Pines.
I often dream of a crooked stream;
It calls to me with a melody
That makes me want to cry–
Or fly.
There is an orchestra hanging on the breeze
And the Mountains rise like tympani,
Always keeping time
To the Opus of The Pines.
I stare at stars when I hear it most
And all of my questions find time:
How do foreground fields fade to background mountains?
How does that moon hang when there is just sky all around it?
And what is beyond that?
No one knows–
Except maybe The Pines.
I often dream of a crooked stream;
It calls to me with a melody
That makes me want to cry–
Or fly.
There is an orchestra hanging on the breeze
And the Mountains rise like tympani … always …
Everything is always.
I feel it always.
…Keeping time…
We are always keeping time
To the Opus of The Pines.