[ar: Laura Gibson]
[ti: La Grande]
[id: pvoozpsb]
[00:06.64]When the moon carves a trail down the pine-bearded hills
[00:14.58]And a ghost-wind hollers to the early morn
[00:18.98]And the starlings return to the old sugar mill
[00:23.92]Stealing their corn from the grower's field
[00:28.92]Oh, I'll be no more
[00:37.86]When we've covered our hands in the bone-white clay
[00:43.04]And we've shaken the dust from every boot and spur
[00:47.92]We have counted our days in planks and rails
[00:52.98]We have kept our spirits in the dancing halls
[00:57.60]Oh, I'll be no more
[01:05.60]When a cold corner stage in the back of the room
[01:21.86]Holds a house band carrying an orphan tune
[01:26.79]I would swing, I would sway, I would pull my hips
[01:31.98]To the sad chorus playing on the overheads
[01:36.54]Oh, I'll be no more
[01:43.54]Oh, I'll be no more
[01:56.23]Still to this day
[01:58.60]I can hear the whistle blow
[02:00.92]I can smell the sage burn
[02:03.54]I may be as old and stubborn as a pine
[02:09.11]But I am just as wild as the young
[02:22.29]When a ribbon is curved round the blue-shadowed hills
[02:50.48]And the hot steel is humming down the Union Line
[02:55.35]Whip-thin, hickory-black, tap-tapping
[03:00.23]Our sad-faced chatter into rhythm and rhyme
[03:05.54]Oh, I'll be no more
[03:14.04]Oh, I'll be no more