bristlecone pine

way up in the mountains

on the high timberline

lives a twisted old tree

called the bristlecone pine

the wind there is bitter

it cuts like a knife

and it keeps that tree holding

on for dear life

but hold on it does

standing its ground

standing as empires

rise and fall down

when jesus was gathering

lambs to his fold

this tree was already

a thousand years old

now the way i have lived

there ain't no way to tell

when i die if i'm going

to heaven or hell

so when i'm laid to rest

it would suit me just fine

to sleep at the feet of the

bristlecone pine

for as i would slowly

return to the earth

what little this body

of mine might be worth

would soon start to nourish

the roots of that tree

and it would partake of

the essence of me

and who knows but that as

the centuries turn

a small spark of me might

continue to burn

as long as the sun did

continue to shine

down on the limbs of the

bristlecone pine

now the way i have lived

there ain't no way to tell

when i die if i'm going

to heaven or hell

so i'd just as soon serve out

eternity's time

asleep at the feet of the

bristlecone pine

asleep at the feet of the

bristlecone pine