Текст пісні
She is the dust in the distance, a car down the road
A tree on the hillside all weathered and bowed
The clock at the courthouse grown silent and stark
The voice of the old ones defining the dark
A swing on the front porch, a glass of sweet tea
The sheets on the clothesline by the magnolia tree
The taste of home lingering long in your mouth
She is the light in the window, the sound of the south
She is the counting of crows, the cows in the corn
A prayer at the graveside and a child being born
The after-church dinner that's waiting back home
She is the card in the mailbox, the voice on the phone
A swing on the front porch, a glass of sweet tea
The sheets on the clothesline by the magnolia tree
The taste of home lingering long in your mouth
She is the light in the window, the sound of the south
The smells from the kitchen, the cornbread and greens
The lace on the armchairs and the small figurines
Adorning the mantelpiece front to the back
A family of photographs, all faded and cracked
She is the town at the crossroads, as small as it seems
The old men at the riverside, trolling for dreams
Are they lost to the memory of the last precious few
Or remembered and spoken and living anew?
A swing on the front porch, a glass of sweet tea
The sheets on the clothesline by the magnolia tree
The taste of home lingering long in your mouth
She is the light in the window, the sound of the south
She is the light in the window, the sound of the south