Long roadsleading home
home to Mama's apple pie.
Down the narrowand windy
I hear a pitter patter, it is rain
Darkness iscatching up, sweet night
the image is cast of Mama'sface.

Her loving and wrinkled face.
I have wanted tocome home.
Thoughts of Mama challenge me at night
A lamode, always my style pie.
The sky is clearing, hidden israin
Time has flown by like wind.

My hair is inknots and windy
Mama would braid my hair, pull myface.
Our house was always calm during rain
I stilldream of that childhood home.
On the table sat Daddy'sfresh pie
I would sneak some at night.

Headlightscut the night
Thoughts are starting to wind.
I can tastemy mama's pie.
Pie crumbs decorate my face.
Impatiencelooms until I get home
it's started again, therain.

Mama says the steps of heaven are washed withrain.
She always prayed with me at night
This is thelast road home.
Lightning flashes, the feel of blowingwind
all I see is my mama's face.
I should haveappreciated her pies.

Mama and those silly pies
sheliked to make them when it rained
the rolling pins weightstrains her face
baking all through the night.
Open theoven, face hit by apple pie wind
cinnamon-apple, smell ofhome.

Mama's apples in the pie at night
when itrains and is windy
her smiling face met me athome.