| I have gone to the west:
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| The emerald kingdom highway
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| It’s like a hero’s path I’m following
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| I don’t know what to think
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| What to do with myself today
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| Shouldn’t I hear the future calling me?
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| Under a low cloud
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| Vanishing up through the treeline of the mountain
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| Catching the light from the morning on a river come to life:
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| The grand Columbia
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| I’ve returned this time
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| Through these cascades in autumn
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| And for once, I am unquestioning
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| I can see the boatmen shout
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| Over the wind and engines
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| As the gold coins shower from aspen trees
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| And into the twilight
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| The hazy moon on the amethystine river
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| Watching the hair and lifting up
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| And her wings spread wide as the Columbia
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| Unbeknownst to my pride
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| I had filled my memories
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| With these hours of gold and emerald light
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| Now I plunge my hands
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| Into all this time I’ve lived
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| And the jewels spill through my fingers
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| I am back in the west
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| On this canyon highway
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| I can see a girl is passing
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| She is going so fast
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| I can hardly tell it’s me
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| Doesn’t she know that she’ll be traveling
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| Under a low cloud
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| Out of the northwest and through the Rocky Mountains
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| Across the prairies to the Appalachian
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| Rises now the Pennsylvania farms into the traffic of the eastern cities
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| Into my town, onto my street
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| Up the stairs, into my house
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| Grab the kids, and out the back into the garden |