The View From Home

Bryan Bowers



Black crow sitting on a red roof, house on a hill

Old yellow truck in the driveway got some miles on her still

Out front the pavement's buckled where the roots have taken hold

To the south lies the mountain, a glory to behold



Down on the lake, countless boats are sailing

Up on the shoreline, a single figure runs

And off in the distance, the Cascades rise fiery

Burned in gold by the setting sun



Up north lies Alaska, our last true frontier

Out west lies the ocean, and Olympics so near

Back east lies madness, say what you will

Say I'm a maniac, singing on a hill



Out on the road, we tell all the turkeys

Yes it's always raining and the sun never shines

But all the natives know when the mountain lifts her skirts

The view from home will flat-out melt your mind



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