When I walk the hill so high around the town where I was born,
New York seems so far away though I was there just yesterday.
I have played on my guitar in coffeehouses, hall, and bars.
Everyone that I call friend knows they will not be forgot.
Trains and planes and rented cars, singers, saints, and other stars,
I suspect them every one, they'll never change, it's too much fun.
Just for now I'd like to rest in the shade of a maple tree.
To the blue Canadian sky, I'll say a prayer for the world out there.

When I stand on my own sod, it feels so good to be home, by God.
The winter wind has turned my head but I always came up warm somehow.
Bottles, beads, and cigarettes and lovers that I ain't found yet.
Picking with a friend till dawn, and singing all of those hi'way songs.
Just for now I'd like to rest in the shade of a maple tree.
To the blue Canadian sky, I'll say a prayer for the world out there.

When I walk the hill so high around the town where I was born,
New York seems so far away though I was there just yesterday.
I would travel all my life if loneliness was not the price.
But heading north across that line's the only time I'm flying.