No Place Like Oregon
There’s no place like Oregon in the summertime
where the blackberries hang fat on the vine
and those tall fir trees sway in the sweet Pacific breeze
there’s no place else that sets my soul at ease
Where the whitewater crashes down from the mountains
and the hot springs bubble up from the ground
I used to camp out there all summer underneath the singing trees
and paddle and play or just listen to the sounds
There’s no place like Oregon in the summertime
where the blackberries hang fat on the vine
and those tall fir trees sway in the sweet Pacific breeze
there’s no place else that sets my soul at ease
Sometimes I wonder why I’ve wandered
so far away from everything that matters the most
as I walk through the streets of some big city all alone
with this old guitar I feel just like a ghost
so even if I have to hop a freight train
or step out on the highway and stick out my thumb
when this long winter ends I know you’ll find me on my way
back up to the mountains where all this started from
There’s no place like Oregon in the summertime
where the blackberries hang fat on the vine
and those tall fir trees sway in the sweet Pacific breeze
there’s no place else that sets my soul at ease
(Ken Zimmerman 2004)
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