(Words and Music by Joan Baez) Outside the Nashville city limits a friend and I did drive, on a day in early winter I was glad to be alive. We went to see some friends of his who lived upon a farm. Strange and gentle country folk who would wish nobody harm. Fresh-cut sixty acres, eight cows in the barn. But the thing that I remember on that cold day in December was that my eyes they did brim over as we talked. In the slowest drawl I had ever heard the man said "Come with me if y'all wanna see the prettiest place in all of Tennesee." He poured us each a glass of wine and a-walking we did go, along fallen leaves and crackling ice where a tiny brook did flow. He knew every inch of the land and Lord he loved it so. But the thing that I remember on that cold day in December was that my eyes were brimming over as we walked. He set my down upon a stone beside a running spring. He talked in a voice so soft and clear like the waters I heard sing. He said "We searched quite a time for a place to call our own. There was just me and Mary John and now I guess we're home." I looked at the ground and wondered how many years they each had roamed. And Lord I do remember on that day in late December how my eyes kept brimming over as we talked. As we walked. And standing there with outstretched arms he said to me "You know, I can't wait till the heavy storms cover the ground with snow, and there on the pond the watercress is all that don't turn white. When the sun is high you squint your eyes and look at the hills so bright." And nodding his head my friend said, "And it seems like overnight that the leaves come out so tender at the turning of the winter..." I thought the skies they would brim over as we talked. © 1970, 1971 Chandos Music (ASCAP) Bu döküman AkorMerkezi.com'da yayınlanmıştır. http://www.akormerkezi.com