In the mountains, where the wind laps at your door
Where the blackbird sings to the hills a sad tune
Where the green treetops sway and the eagles soar

In the mountains, where the wolves howl at the moon
Where the young lion prowls along the ridges
Where the caterpillar curls in its cocoon

In the mountains, where there are no built bridges
Where you can hear all of the Spring Peepers
Where a rancher sits on his porch and listens

As the night is swept away by the creatures
The sounds echo like a thousand violins
A smile creeps into his old, wrinkled features

He sits back as the sounds of the night begin
And he knows he’s meant to be in the mountains.