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