It's high on the mountain, the warm winds are blowing,

and where the winds are blowing to, there ain't no way of knowing.

The mountain grass is short. It's dry and close to burning,

Crying out for water, as the seasons are turning.

Chorus:

The sweet smell of pines, tall Western Cedar.

Drifting in the wind through the mountains like a river.

I've been too long away from this wild open sky.

On the concrete trails that wind through the canyons dark and wide

with sounds of people talking in words blue and gray.

This sounds of doors and windows closed against the day.

Chorus:

The sweet smell of pines, tall Western Cedar.

Drifting in the wind through the mountains like a river.

Now the dust lies thick and heavy where my feet are falling.

There's nothing but the sound of jaybird's calling.

My mind grows dry and thirsty as the memories linger,

Drifting on the wind through the mountains like a river.

Chorus:

The sweet smell of pines, tall Western Cedar.

Drifting in the wind through the mountains like a river.