A Whistle In The Pines Lyrics

The old windmill's rusted, creaks in the wind,

Dusty roads to nowhere, where towns begin,

The barn's paint is peeling, like time's wearing thin,

Yet the sunsets here, they feel like a friend.

Grandma's on the front porch, quilting by the light,

Her stories hold a magic, precious and bright,

We're picking wildflowers, fields full of delight,

Country air at twilight, soft as the night.

Living where the heart beats slow,

By the creek where wildflowers grow,

Where life's a song, in a whisper fine,

Just like a whistle in the pines.

Johnny works the fields, sun-up 'til dusk,

Sweat on his brow, oil on his trucks,

Homemade lemonade, cooling those tired husks,

Cicadas serenade, in the moon's soft musk.

Aunt Mary's apple pie, cooling on the sill,

Her secret's in the love, and that old cast iron grill,

The track up to the hill, beneath the stars so still,

In the silence of the farm, dreams quietly fulfill.

Living where the heart beats slow,

By the creek where wildflowers grow,

Where life's a song, in a whisper fine,

Just like a whistle in the pines.

Living where the heart beats slow,

By the creek where wildflowers grow,

Where life's a song, in a whisper fine,

Just like a whistle in the pines.