by Alison Krauss and Union Station Intro: | | | My father was a farmer but his head was in the sky. He worked every day but Sunday | till the day he died. He prayed for rain and thunder and listened for the sound. In the dryers he went under | he never got off the ground. We all dream when we’re younger that we will to great things. Me I used to have a hunger. | to wear a pilot’s wings. Mando solo: | | | | | | | | But the circles that I ran in turned my head around and the planes I had my plans in | never got off the ground. Don’t raise your hopes; you hear so many say "The higher they get the closer they are to fly-ing away." Fly high away! Fiddle solo: | | | | | | | | Don’t raise your hopes; you hear so many say "The higher they get the closer they are to fly-ing away." They say they’re but for fortune is the way it would have been if we could take a bigger portion | and fill our hands again. You see them on the sidewalks in the parks all over town; those who’ve taken flight but never got off the ground. Outro: | | | | | |