| Just about a hundred years or so ago
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| Ten men rode their way down the mighty Colorado
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| And as I read about their journey
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| I couldn’t help but feel a very similar yearning
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| To Mr. Powell
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| And I wish that I could have been there with him
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| The way he talked about the river, I could tell
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| The revelations he must have felt within himself
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| The realization of what man’s supposed to do
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| I feel it too
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| As they would ride over the waves
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| As they would glide over the waves
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| The river forged its way through canyons
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| That were so high that the clouds would float within them
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| Cascade fountains moss surrounded
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| On through a gorge grand beyond description
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| And the river rolls
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| Like a whirlpool it sets my mind to spinnin'
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| Can you imagine walls that went so high
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| The sky would be nothing more than a single thin blue line
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| And rocks would rainbow their way up to the sky
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| As they would ride over the waves
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| As they would glide over the waves
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| You’d hear them singing, singing
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| Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh
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| Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh … |