Back To My Roots

Daddy worked the sawmill twelve hours every day
For fifty some odd years, he never missed his pay
Momma fed the family from a black wood burning stove
And I walked to school down a old dirt country road

Somewhere down a country road, whippoorwills are singing
From the hilltops and meadows, I hear their welcome song
I miss all the simple things from my upbringing
I’m going back to my roots where I belong

Here in the city, no one speaks my name
Bright lights and late nights, it just don’t feel the same
I fell in with the wrong crowd and somehow got off track
My heart is saying that it’s time to pack up and move back

I can almost hear the sound of a lazy summer breeze
Blowing soft and warm through the pines and big oak trees
When I get back home I’ll be alright I know
I’ll go back to my roots in days of long ago