And a cold angst it was

And a cold angst it was

Twist, turn, stop go, swerve;

the road goes straight on

to the horizon that runs away;

to the horizon that runs away.

16 and the gallows tunnel vision

sees that it sees no future. No

escape from the loneliness

from birth to death, unless,

nearer to death’s door I pause

to shout back, hand in hand with you,

stop! Permit the blood of youth

settle back to earth. Think man,

where in the great game does it deny 

that never the twain shall meet?

Turn from chasing the horizon, stop,

and settle in the prairie fields

and raise a gingham crop.