I have grown used to these hills, this land
It is my home, this rich earth and tall trees
The mountains that once I thought burned with some ever present fire
But instead hold only mist
These cities from which music pours
These fields upon which brothers died
This home from which I came and left and came again
Now gone again-- for good?
And yet it is the home that, when all else fails and I reach for some distant comfort--

Tennessee, to you I call