Way up in the mountains on the high timberline
there's a twisted old tree called the bristle cone pine
the wind there it's bitter and cut's like a knife
And keeps that tree holdin on for dear life
Hold on it does stand in it's ground
Now the way I have lived there aint no way to tell
when I die if I'm goin' to heaven or hell
so when I'm laid to rest it'll suite me just fine
to sleep at the feet of the Bristle Cone Pine
As I would slowly return to this earth