I'd rather have lakes and trees and rocks
Than hide away in a southern box
There're fresh tracks, in the white snow.
Where they lead to, only God knows.
There're moose and grouse and porcupine,
Otter slides and beaver sign
Lynx and coyote on the go,
Rabbits hiding in the snow
And stretching out behind me is a record of my own
I'd rather have wolf and mink and fox
Than hide away in a gyproc box.
The axe rings, and the tree falls.
The dead wood, frames tent walls
The stove pops, and the heat spreads.
It warms hands, and it bakes bread
And just beyond the cotton it's 38 below,
I'd rather have lake and trees and rock,
Than hide away in a southern box.
And I smile,
When the snow,
On my land,