Our Survival Depends on Us – The Mountains of My Home
Genre Rock

LYRIC
The Mountains of My Home

I am dreaming of the mountains of my home
Of the mountains where in childhood I would roam
I have dwelt beneath southern skies
Where the summer never dies
But my hear is in the mountains of my home

I can see the little homestead on the hill
I can hear the magic music of the rhyl
There is nothing to compare
With the love that once was there
In the lonely little homestеad on the hill

I can see the quiet gravеyard down below
Where the mountain breezes wander to and fro
And when god my soul will keep
It is there I want to sleep
With those dear old folks that loved me long ago

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