Из альбома: True Stories

When I was a kid and the summers were free

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We'd pile in a car with no A.C.

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And point it east into the heat

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Across the Central Valley

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We'd drive our mama near insane

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'Til she'd pull off of that big four lane

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And we started up the winding road

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To Val's cabin



About half-way to the mountain top

We'd pull off the road and come to a stop

By a rustic cabin with the shutters locked

Sure, it was cooler, but still damn hot



But the pine and scotch-broom were in the air

The river was just a few miles from there

Just a ways down the winding road?

Past Val's cabin



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And the river runs through all my memories

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Twisting and plunging be-tween the trees

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Sliding past great granite boulders

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smooth and warm as giants' shoulders



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Now they've chained her and they've changed her

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So the fish can't even claim her

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And I can't find the winding road

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To Val's cabin



On a long and dusty old dirt track

We'd walk to the river and then trudge back

Stopping to talk to every horse,

Every friendly dog, and every cat



In the water ditch along the road

We'd hide from the sun and dangle our toes

Then we'd start up the winding road

To Val's cabin



Chorus



Now twenty years later I'm climbing that hill

Roaring up the highway past Soulsbyville

It's an oven outside, but it's cool in here

In this air-conditioned automobile



It's four-lane concrete all the way

They've straightened the curves and smoothed the grades

They've covered up the winding road

To Val's cabin



Chorus

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