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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