Cedar Hills and Rusted Towers

[Verse] In the quiet of the cedar hills, where the rivers kiss the ground, There's a man who walks in rubber boots, hardly makes a sound. He's got the skilled hands of a gunsmith, knapsack full of lead, Exploring trails where the maple trees shed leaves of crimson red. [Verse 2] He hikes through fields of golden straw, rifle at his side, Eyes scanning for the northward geese that in autumn stay and bide. The peaks of spindly towers, he scales like ancient stone, From the ground up to the heavens, where the eagles make their home. [Chorus] He's a free man in the wild, where the whispering winds commence, A rubber-booted wanderer with a craftsman's common sense. Climbing towers, taming forests, tracing paths the moose once knew, In the great Canadian wilderness, under skies so deep and blue. [Verse 3] Winter snow paints the landscape in a cold and quiet hush, While in a cabin by the frozen lake, his fire cracklin' in a rush. He mends his tools, he oils his guns, prepares for dawn’s first sheen, Knowing that tomorrow's light will bring more sights unseen. [Verse 4] Springtime thaws the icy streams, the fish rise up to meet, The gentle hand of someone who knows the land beneath his feet. With every step, he feels the soul of ancient earth and pine, In this vast north country, man's in nature's grand design. [Chorus] He's a free man in the wild, where the whispering winds commence, A rubber-booted wanderer with a craftsman's common sense. Climbing towers, taming forests, tracing paths the moose once knew, In the great Canadian wilderness, under skies so deep and blue.