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There's a spot far away we all know well,
A place that's called the Lookout Hill;
Where rabbits hop and the wildcats yell,
How I love that place no one can tell.
There are trout streams there and moose and deer,
But you never lay eyes on a grizzly bear;
So take your pack upon your back,
And head your way up the Lookout track.
There'll be a time when I am old,
And my poor old bones are stiff and cold;
I'll head to the Lookout with the setting sun,
When I smell those spruce trees I'll feel young.
When the lakes are frozen and the brooks are high,
And you hear the owl in the moonlight cry;
I'll head to the Lookout with spirits high,
Goodbye, my friends, it's there I'll die.
There's a spot far away we all know well,
A place that's called the Lookout Hill;
Where rabbits hop and the wildcats yell,
How I love that place no one can tell.
Recorded by Stan Rogers (For the Family - Stan Rogers, ©1983 Folk Tradition Records).
