When it’s twilight on the trail,
And i jog along,
The world is like a dream
And the ripple of the stream is my song . . .
When it’s twilight on the trail,
And i rest once more,
My ceiling is the sky
And the grass on which i lie is my floor . . .
Never ever have a nickel in my jeans,
Never ever have a debt to pay,
Still i understand what real contentment means,
Guess i was born that way . . .
When it’s twilight on the trail,
And my voice is still,
Please plant this heart of mine
Underneath the lonesome pine on the hill . . .
( underneath the lonesome pine on the hill . . . )
When it’s twilight on the trail . . .