Beneath the sky where maples rise,
Their golden leaves in autumn sway,
The echoes of our laughter rise,
And guide our hearts along the way.
Through halls where melodies take flight,
The orchestra and choir blend,
Soft strings and voices, rich and bright,
Like rivers flowing without end.
Upon the stage, the curtain calls,
A story spun in amber light,
We dance, we dream, as evening falls,
Then fade into the starry night.
Oh, Brentwood High, your roots run deep,
Like ancient oaks that guard the ground,
Though time may pull, though years may sweep,
Our memories in you are bound.
