Eight years old, skipping stones
In the ice cold
Bitterroot rapids roll
With every rock I throw all my problems seem to go
down stream slow
but for now I'm sitting here waiting for tomorrow to come
My bitterroot dreams are all I need
To float down stream
My bitterroot dreams are all I see
I won't let this town get the best of me
Stuck in a rut as I try to leave
The door is open for me
But there are still bags at my feet
I guess I have been waiting all this time to shine
But I'm losing my mind
and I have left to hold on to are my ...

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