My pa, he came home quiet as the evening in his worn out shoes
I could tell by his shoulders
That he had the blues
He said, "Son, you're mother's gone away.
When she'll come back I could not say.
Hey, will you play me a tune?"

So I strummed some little song
About how nothing lasts for long
His lips were trembling. He looked old.
He touched my arm. His hand was cold.
When the song was done
We watched the setting of the sun
And heard the wild birds singing.

It was so quiet in the house
We spoke in our lowest voices

As I thought of all the missing noises
I knew I loved that man
Even though I'd been afraid
If I told a lie or come home late
I always knew we had a place.
Let's go cut a tree down!
Pa, let's go cut a tree down!
My mother lives in the city
In a place that gives you all the things
You need to live a happy hidden life
My pa, in a few years
He'll be moving to the mountains
Moving to the crowded mountains
Of our land

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