Where I come from
is a land of many islands
Two rivers run
To the east and to the west
I wanted to run far away as I could as fast as I could get But no matter where I've been I can't escape
who I am
Or forget
Where I come from
Paint is peeling all the time
The winter's long
Gets into your boots
The rivers run high and wild
High and wild in the springtime
The tourists come through our fading little town When the sunshines
The veterans
The veterans of all the past wars
Sit outside on a Sunday afternoon
The mills closed down long ago and so We're way past unemployment
Like a bad joke somebody told on our town For their enjoyment
September sun
Colors boldly flying
In pretty reds, orange, gold and brown Most beautiful
As the light is dying
Most beautiful
As the day goes down

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): PATRICIA J. GRIFFIN