There’s a story in the soil, written deep in the ground,

A hymn in the hills, in the way the wind sounds.

It’s the pride in our hands, the scars on our land,

It’s the prayer on our lips when we don’t understand.

This life ain’t easy, but it’s the life we choose,

With the faith of our fathers, we never lose.

They call it nowhere, but they don’t see,

This little nowhere’s everything to me.

Where we’re from, the sky feels close,

Every neighbor’s a friend, and God’s the host.

With a flag on the porch and a hand to lend,

It’s where roots run deep, and broken hearts mend.

We’ve got fields of gold and dirt roads to ride,

And a church that stands through the test of time.

We know sacrifice, and we hold the line,

We’re a million stars in the same old sky.

They don’t understand the way we live,

The grit in the work, the love we give.

They see the surface, but never the soul,

It’s the heart of this place that makes us whole.

Where we’re from, the sky feels close,

Every neighbor’s a friend, and God’s the host.

With a flag on the porch and a hand to lend,

It’s where roots run deep, and broken hearts mend.

We don’t need the lights, we don’t need the fame,

We’ve got all we need in our family name.

Every grain of sand, every blade of grass,

Holds the weight of the stories from our past.

Where we’re from, the sky feels close,

Every neighbor’s a friend, and God’s the host.

With a flag on the porch and a hand to lend,

It’s where roots run deep, and broken hearts mend.

So let the world spin, let the cities grow,

We’ll stand right here, where we’re from, we know.