In Carolina

Slow moving night
Looking at the half moonlight, its blue light
Dry yellow field
Thinking of the old ones that traveled here

Did they move south
on hope alone?

They heard it rarely snows
in Carolina

Sitting by the warm glow
Of our wood stove fire
Cold on the cabin window
Like a store front display, a city holiday

And when we hear that cold sway
Of those tall forest pines
A light heart steers me
Steers me away

And we will run outside
on hope alone

Because it rarely snows if at all
in Carolina


Bu etkinlik için henüz yorum yapılmamıştır. Yukarıdaki bölümü kullanarak ilk yorum yapan siz olabilirsiniz.