Along old fence lines
truth rings like the music of a mockingbird,
where a man is still as worthy as his word...
along old fence lines.
And I see my grandpa resting by that old Artesian well,
ah, there's watermelon dripping down my chin,
the ladies in their finest dresses coming out for church,
and so I guess it must be Wednesday evening...
along old fence lines.
Across old bridges
are fragments of a world that didn't turn so fast,
but if you were headed somewhere, friend, they'd let you past
across old bridges.
And I see those kids on Shetland ponies out near Clifton's Store,
the old men playing checkers by the gate,
and Haggard's singin' “Mama Tried” somewhere along the dial,
and I believe it must be about 1968
across old bridges.
There's a place between this two-lane highway and the past,
where old friends pass gently through my mind.
I see them for a moment, then they slowly slip away,
and melt back through the distant lens of time,
along old fence lines...
across old bridges...
beside old rail yards...
along old fence lines.
© 2024 Cloverlyrics.com