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