Trickling water through a brook, Down from the mountain and into a stream, Gently carving into the land a tale, A sad yet happy tune for all to hear.
Mountains to those not from here, Hills to its inhabitants, Safeguarding those who live here from the poisons of the modern world, Locking away it's people in a small slice of time.
Moonshine is made here, Where the big bucks wander, A place where the turkey, elk, and illusive bobcat roam free, Where the hawks, warblers, and grouse abound, Bears trundle, And hill folk dance and sing.
Somewhere off the highway between over there and yonder ways stands a little church on a gravel road that took me home in my younger days.
As you pass grandmother's old place where my ancestors found their stead lays Uncle Pete's house in the woods where reunions were held to break family bread.
It was at this place our stories were shared as one generation met the one to come after mournful old eyes glimpsed a jovial horizon finding condolence in the future's young laughter.
It's here I learned the history of my inherited name as I listened to the tales that ultimately lead to me of how I'm related to this person who begat that one or of those who served in the wars to keep us free.
As those stories were told I often found it strange as the storyteller's gaze traced further down the trail to where the gravel gave way to a dirt trodden path that cut its way through Boone's forested dale.
Over the years I have often made this journey out past the places of my childhood memory down an old Kentucky road of gravel and dirt that finds its end at our old family cemetery.
It is a place were serenity accompanies finality a small clearing shadowed by surrounding trees where each marble marks a loved one in peaceful rest their names etched in stone and whispered in the breeze.
My grandmother and Uncle Pete now lie in its shade and in their passing it's only here we meet as a family but it's on this road that I learned who I truly am and at its end lies both my history and my destiny.
My old Kentucky home Is a cold unlucky tomb I live in between the trees And those that say freeze I'm down on my knees As I beg and plead I try to talk to a world disconnected And discuss the problems I've detected Instead I end up feeling dejected In a state deemed defective I feel rejected
A downside to living in the Kentucky wilderness Is hearing animals dying in the distance And there's nothing I can do about it Critters whimpering and bones snapping Barrels simmering and bullets capping I hear it on the news Or hear it in the woods Beasts biting into the weak ******* exploiting the meek They use their teeth To play hide and seek
Under the luminous full moon I hear the death of raccoons These are the sounds To which I'm bound And when I think I've lost them I start to hear possums Which engenders fear Like the mangled deer Lying on the side of the road Dead to a world it never knew And its curiosity never grew Until a car didn't mind driving through
We should pay attention to one another's problems Even if we can't solve them Even if it's painful It should be our main goal In a world that's being gloabalized Location is beginning to matter less Unless you live where a bomb is being dropped Then it's up to those that live within crops To pick up a mop And help clean up this mess Which is a lofty task I confess But I live in a society That determines the emotions inside of me So instead of giving up and saying **** me I'll do the best I can from Kentucky