Из альбома: State of Grace
I'm one of the few
Proud to be standing
I walked up the pier
From the tall ships a-landing
My clothes were just rags
No good in this weather
But my back it was strong
My hands, tough as leather
I climbed up these hills
Til I came to the spot where I stand
I cleared these fields
And I pulled up the stumps with my hands
No more a wanderer
No more a refugee
For a mountaineer is always free
I took a Cherokee bride
She gave me five babies
I sang at the wakes
And I cried at the weddings
I taught all my children
The songs of my youth
To dance to the fiddle
And practice the truth
I carried them upon my shoulders
To where they could see
The whole world before them
Just so they would know what it means
No more a wanderer
No more a refugee
For a mountaineer is always free
No kings or landlords
To treat us like beggars and thieves
There's no one but God here to fear
Or to look down on me
No more a wanderer
No more a refugee
For a mountaineer is always free