I fell away from myself for just a little while. Creeping through the rye and sleeping in the foxholes scattered through the hills. I pushed away the ideas of satisfaction and romance. Wafting through the air, I was a perfume of the mountains. Pine and wet earth, I let nature reclaim me while I waited, slumbered inside my skin. When my mind had cleared, the fog of the valley, lifted, a stranger found me sleeping beside the brook. And with a calloused hand and a rough voice he lifted me from the dirt.
A friend for the spring, possibility lies just over yonder. Sing with me a while, while we find our way.