When it's twilight on the trail,
   And I jog along,
   The world is like a dream
   And the ripple of the stream is my song . . .
  
   When it's twilight on the trail,
   And I rest once more,
   My ceiling is the sky
   And the grass on which I lie is my floor . . .
  
   Never ever have a nickel in my jeans,
   Never ever have a debt to pay,
   Still I understand what real contentment means,
   Guess I was born that way . . .
  
   When it's twilight on the trail,
   And my voice is still,
   Please plant this heart of mine
   Underneath the lonesome pine on the hill . . .
  
   ( Underneath the lonesome pine on the hill . . . )
   When it's twilight on the trail . . .