Fireflies - Future Of Forestry

Freedom was a homely Chevy old and gray

It was slow and steady

We were young

And troubles drifted far

They burned into the sun

Just like we were young, the best was saved for now

And sparks that flew like fireflies, they still light the path somehow

They still light the paths somehow

Summer was a desert sunset’s crimson fade

It was dry and heavy

Beauty was the smell of distant rain, our spirits lifted high.