Thoroughfare Gap
|
|
Sometimes I consider
|
my pace
|
I'm reminded of a train
|
gathering speed
|
for the climb to the pass;
|
In whose shadow it already lies
|
A small metal dragon
|
approaching the ever-present ascending rise
|
To the Seventh Moutain.
|
|
Reelin' and snakin' and leapin' it seems
|
Like it wants to come loose
|
from it's path cast in iron;
|
But you can't slow down now
|
As the Earth has presented
|
a new crest to reach
|
Without barely a rest
|
from the last one.
|
|
And you wonder
|
just what lies beyond
|
Though you've been there before
|
And forget about
|
the effort and the strain;
|
Always ascending,
|
each yard as a mile
|
To the never ending pull
|
of the steepening grade
|
that's before you.
|
|
A valley, a forest,
|
a desert, a stream,
|
With an over-sized bridge
|
for the trickle there beneath;
|
You remember the torrent
|
it turned to last Spring,
|
From the snow's melting fast,
|
And the river it became
|
in the summer.
|
|
Perhaps it is ruin
|
from a fire that has scorched it
|
So badly that nothing
|
will grow without rain;
|
To wash away the blackened soil
|
Now useless 'til called upon again
|
In a future as distant and far away
|
as the next range of mountains.
|
|
So take it as far
|
as you see and beyond
|
With eyes you don't use enough
|
to gather up strength;
|
As Thoroughfare Gap
|
What awaits is whatever you see
|
When you get there
|
or even before;
|
It's no matter.
|
No distance.
|
It's the ride.
|
|
-----------------
|
Thoroughfare Gap
|
| Stephen Stills |
