Strumming gently on my guitar, Setting the mood for a country star. Soft notes fill the air, A prelude to a story rare. In a small town by the stream, There\'s a place that means a dream. The old oak tree stands tall, Where memories start to crawl. Sunlight filters through the leaves, Painting pictures that deceive. Of a love that once was true, Now a memory, all askew. Country roads, take me home, To the place where I belong. Fields of gold, where the story\'s told, Of a love that\'s now grown cold. Country dreams, they fade away, Leaving me here, lost in dismay. Take me back, to that better day, When love was here to stay. The barn where we used to play, Is now silent, just decay. The hayloft where we\'d hide, Now holds nothing but our pride. The wind whistles through the cracks, Like a ghost from olden tracks. Reminding me of what we had, And how it all went bad. I walk these paths alone, The echoes of our love, a groan. The stars above seem to mock, As I try to find my way back to that dock. Where we\'d sit and watch the night, And hold each other tight. Now it\'s just a fading light, In this country of endless night. Country roads, take me home, To the place where I belong. Fields of gold, where the story\'s told, Of a love that\'s now grown cold. Country dreams, they fade away, Leaving me here, lost in dismay. Take me back, to that better day, When love was here to stay. The guitar\'s strings grow slack, As the song comes to an end. The memories still attack, In this country of broken friends. But I\'ll hold on to what\'s left, Of a love that once was blessed. And hope one day to find again, That love in this country den.