Greg Winkler: Music

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I’ve heard ‘bout the salmon, they rush up the river
To bear their young where they were born
And small town Americans nursing their heritage
Finding their way in what happened before
My roots seem to grow in the thinnest of air
They say that the fruit once it breaks from the limb
Doesn’t fall far from the tree
Apples and oranges, peaches and pears
They fly through the air with the greatest of ease
My roots seem to flourish wherever I dare
Sowing my seeds on scholars’ lands
I transplanted my feet from shifting sands
And just like the creeping Charlie grows
My feet planted roots, a tree did grow
Boats sailed from Europe with full sturdy bow
Carrying people with dreams
Of life, love, and liberty, cool fertile soil
Pioneer spirits who burst at the seams
My roots go as deep as the oceans are blue
Castles and prairies and mountains of stone
Have known me for hundreds of years
They watcher o’er my spirit through bodies in time
Initials are carved on their fading veneers
My roots have grown deep while a sturdy tree grew
Leaves that have fallen to the ground
I gather them up and check each one
Looking for life and eyes that shine
I gather them up, these leaves are mine
I’ve heard ‘bout the salmon, they rush up the river
To bear their young where they were born
©2003 Lyrics and Music by Greg Winkler