[singer A] One day, the dust I chase will be a memory. Until then, I follow his dust. When it's my turn to lead, I hope mine points someone home. His dust to follow, My dust to lead. In these mountains, never really alone. [transition] [singer B] The past is past, and today is today. We ride for now, holding what we can into tomorrow. Over beat-up trails, logs across the road, chainsaw in the back, nothing stops us. Down those old logging roads, left, right, switchback, switchback, all day, all night. We went fifty-five miles deep for huckleberries. Riding doubles with my dad, gravel under the tires, I knew I'd be on that same four-wheeler someday, still seeing him up front, a dust cloud marking the way, his dust to follow. I know I'll still see him at the front when I'm out here alone, but never truly alone. So take the day. Hold on to the small moments. One day, the dust you chase will be a memory. The past is past, a fading map; today is loud and here. A steady stream of what we had, of everything that feels real. And tomorrow? It's right there, another shot at making something last. Chasing dust, me and you, in the morning overpass. Because one day, when I ride alone, his lead will still pull me through. A worn-in path, a planted stone, and my own way will come into view. [transition] [singer A] One day, the dust I chase will be a memory. His dust to follow, My dust to lead. In these mountains, never really alone. [outro] dust to follow
