all my life i’ve been in search of a place
where i can be myself, where there’s plenty of space
i left an island when i was quite young
i hated it there, i wanted myself hung
and came to a city named after one from assisi
but after a while got tired of all the prissies
crossed over the rockies and lived with my mate
but it still wasn’t home, not my heaven’s gate
it wasn’t for long and he had to go
he couldn’t leave me here so he put up the dough
we drove up north for over nine hours
and i felt a charge, some strange mystical power
all my life i’ve been in search of a place
i have found it: montana’s where i spend my days