Way back, from out of the dry lands
My grandfather’s strong hands, they built this home
Wielding, an axe and a hand drill
And a mountain of raw skill, he built it to last

Long days, of working the fields
But then the yields, they started to fall
The drought hit, and then came the dust bowl
It carried the topsoil, away in a gust

Winters, he worked in a sawmill
To pay for the crop bills, and hoped they would grow
He went home, with all of the scrap wood
And did all the he could, to finish the house

A hot day, beneath the veranda
I went to stand up, it hit me at once
He’s gone now, but not what he left us
This home that kept us, connected to him

    Some things, are built to last
    Some things, are built to last
    The ones we love, are gone so fast
    But some things, are built to last

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