On cold November days don't like to stray too far Or even leave my bed, or put down my guitar Or leave my master bedroom with it's view Overlooking the mountains
On dark December days, I think of all my friends From Washington to Maine, New York to Sweden And how we've all grown closer with years Or how we've grown apart
Icicles fall from my roof, burning stove, piles of firewood Will we meet again in Cold Brook Park In Cold Brook Park
On January days I walk into the town Once or twice a day some peace out here I've found My clothes are wet with rain and mountain mist Oh how I love the quiet
When February rains I've gone another year Chasing perfect poems and trying them in your ear But I'm losing the will to chase them anymore Across those lonesome oceans
Running deer stops at a fence, sniffing at the flowering iris Will we meet again in Cold Brook Park Cold Brook Park
Ghosts inhabit my mountain home They don't frighten me, I sleep here alone I shut out my friends, shut off the phone and Late in the night I hear the echoes of young love
I walk downtown, saw her again There on the corner, laughing with friends The cool mountain air pinched her pink skin And I walked on, aching with memories of young love
Youth walk by hand in hand And there on the porch sits an old man His back is tight, his splintered hands And plain in his eyes, he envies the beauty of young loveTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
