Heart Of Rosine

She remembers the first time she heard him
Drew her in like a bow cross a string
Telling his sorrowful story
In ev'ry song he would sing

He could soar up over the mountain
Cry through the tall, mournful pines
As haunting as mist on a meadow
As warm as a glass of red wine

Now the moon will always be bluer
The grass will never be green
When high and lonesome crossed over
Tears poured from the heart of Rosine

She loved that boy from the hillside
Though she knew he would leave her someday
His voice belonged to the whole world
And the roads that would take him away

So the leaves fall every September
There on Jerusalem Ridge
And Kentucky will always remember
Where the sound of his music still lives