East of the Mountains

I stood on a mountain and I looked down below
I came up here to see the valleys so green
And the hills where the tall timber grows

Now they cut down the timber, left the hills in a shroud
And a low mournful sound abides in the ground
Where the woods once stood silent and proud

And the wicked wind blows and it cuts through my clothes
Finding its way to my soul

There’s nowhere to hide and it eats me inside
Leaves just an empty black hole

I spent years of my childhood in this kingdom of mine
And I knew this land like the back of my hand
Where I always could find peace of mind

Now the cold rain is fallin’ from a colorless sky
On a land primed in grey with just hard rocks and clay
I hang my head down and I cry