Up on the hill, there's a tiny house, with a big old rocking swing,
Where two love birds, perched upon it,
Are kissing because they know it's free,
While down below, the children run, faster everyday,
With grass and gravel on both their knees,
They grow with every bone they break.
Well, how's about moving,
To the sunny side of the country?
I'll let you pick a window.
Paint yourself a mountain tall, but leave behind the rain,
And if the color brings a smile,
I'll assume that you're doing okay,
Or find yourself a swimming hole, find yourself a brand new stone,
Toss it with the arm that your daddy gave you,
When you're tired you can go back home.
Well, how's about moving,
To the sunny side of the country?
I'll let you pick a window.
Where the valley lays low,
And the sky is high, we can get down.
Where the river flows,
Beneath the pine, we can get down.
It's worth a try, you and I.
Well, how's about moving,
To the sunny side of the country?
I'll let you pick a window.
