My feet make streets where ‘er I go,
The dirt is pressed so firm and flat.
In summer sun or in the snow
I make the streets where ‘er I go.
By river stones they are my bridge,
From street to street I cross and stitch,
The paths I walk across the land
And find the wolves and deer along my path.
My streets they climb the mountains high,
I run and skip my way and fly
Across the field and hills so far
And find my home is everywhere.
I climb a tree and on a roof
The cat curls next to me and purrs,
We make the streets where ‘er we go,
My joy is, where ‘er I roam.
My street it runs along the stream,
I drink and eat it is so sweet.
The fruit and weeds and nuts and seeds,
The streets they feed and fill me up.
In free and glee I love my streets.
There is no fence or other road,
No wall or line I cannot cross,
My feet they blaze no limits known.
Walk with me and make the streets.
When oily tar is turned to dust
And plants are growing through the faults,
Our streets will show their colors real.