Victoria strolls o’er the street of the bay shore,
Walking alone upon cobblestone pavement. She 
stops in the café the longshoremen all wave,
To greet her in their salty way.
 
  	In her Cobblestone Manor she redoes her plans,
  	And her hope is that someday her man understands.
  	But the love that her heart holds will add on its ringfolds,
  	In Cobblestone Manor again.
 
A song from the Strait of De Fuca will blow on,
Lifting her waves and then dashing out hope. Will she 
ever forget him, the wake from his ship spins,
seaweed and dreams on the darkening sea.
 
  	In her Cobblestone Manor she redoes her plans,
  	And her hope is that someday her man understands.
  	But the love that her heart holds will add on its ringfolds,
	In Cobblestone Manor again. 

  	In her Cobblestone Manor she redoes her plans,
  	And her hope is that someday her man understands.
  	But the love that her heart holds will add on its ringfolds,
	In Cobblestone Manor again. 

  	But the love that her heart holds will add on its ringfolds,
  	In Cobblestone Manor again.

	I’ll go In Without Knockin’ to the first saloon I see in this town.
	Been in the saddle thirty days, ol’ Montana bound.
	This ain’t no time to be polite, I might be spoilin’ for a fight,
	I’ll be raisin’ hell and drinkin’ whiskey down,
	So go on In Without Knockin’ stay till the last dollar’s down.


Seems like ev’rytime I cross that borderline,
I drink and cuss and swear throw my hat up in the air,
And you know I’m feelin’ well, when you hear my rebel yell  ...  Yee Ha
Feelin’ the devil may care!


	I’ll go In Without Knockin’ to the first saloon I see in this town.
	Been in the saddle thirty days, ol’ Montana bound.
	This ain’t no time to be polite, I might be spoilin’ for a fight,
	I’ll be raisin’ hell and drinkin’ whiskey down,
	So go on In Without Knockin’ stay till the last dollar’s down.

		I chose the ways of harder days with no time for regret
		I never wanted nothin’ and I still ain’t got it yet!
		Been ridin’ through this country more years than I can count,
		I burn so deep afraid the wind will blow the fire out.


	So I’ll go In Without Knockin’ to the first saloon I see in this town.
	I been in the saddle thirty days, ol’ Montana bound.
	This ain’t no time to be polite, I might be spoilin’ for a fight,
	I’ll be raisin’ hell and drinkin’ whiskey down.
	So go on In Without Knockin’ stay till the last dollar’s down.
	...  Yee Ha   ... Yup Yup!

	This ain’t no time to be polite, I might be spoilin’ for a fight,
	I’ll be raisin’ hell and buyin’ one more round.   
	So come on In Without Knockin’ stay till the last dollar’s down.

	Whoa, go on In Without Knockin’ stay till the last dollar’s down.

Yodalahee...

Well there’s days of sleet and there’s days of rain,
‘tween the leap-frog stops up our golden chain.
On our journey to sail Over the North Pole.

But a sunshine day in the late of May,
Off Vancouver Bay will surely stay in my heart-folds,
Just as long as you live in my soul.

	While our holds are loaded we have pockets thin,
	And we’re eager for the trade to begin.
	We’re away from family, friends, and home,
	And we’re ready set to make fame our own.

Well the Red men say that we’re a little late,
To be passing through the Bering Straits.
On our journey to sail Over the North Pole.

But then what do they know, they’re all far too old,
To be gold seekers but even so their words haunt me,
As we slice, ...onward to our goal

	With holds full loaded and our pockets thin
	We are eager for the trade to begin.
	We’re away from family, friends, and home,
	And we’re ready set to make fame our own.

Well there’s days of sleet and there’s days away,
‘tween the leap-frog stops up our golden chain.
On our journey to sail Over the North Pole. ...

On our journey to sail Over the North Pole. ...

On our journey to sail Over the North Pole. ...

We’re locked!  We are frozen in time, 
in a portage clock whose hands are of ice.
We’re stopped! We’re trapped in the vice 
of wintertime. Is the glow to unwind?

	Can you sense the still elation, 
	with the sighing of our ships?
	Still it bears no true relation 
	to the crushing winter’s grip 
	On us and our love...
		Suspended Animation.

My men... Salty dogs of the sea, 
in their woolen wear battle insanity.
There’s chess.  There're gods to address, 
in the frozen holds of a full arctic press.

	But I still feel the elation, 
	as the backbone of our ship, 
	Goes and cracks another rib bow,
	As the chill crackles my spit 
	and splits to the bone…
		Suspended Animation.

I close... huddled close to the stove 
still glowing red with the last of the coal.
Oh God, could you send us a sign 
that will demonstrate that the spring won’t be late?

	And I cry in sane elation 
	as the ice buckles my ship,
	But the timbers hold in station,
	as the ice begins to drip 
	and flows through our love…
		Suspended Animation

		Intended Animation

		Suspended Animation

What’s that you say of experience attained with little gain.
And why are you so serious? You have had your share of pain.
And why does my heart tend to miss you, after suffering a torch drowned in rain?
We’ll both chalk this one for experience, 
	In the Taming of Misfortune’s Pain
 
I saw your face in the mirror frame, questioning my next intention.
You vanished from my view with an energy that released me from my senses.
I’m fading ever deep in the morning, my thoughts a-spin with memories unchained.
I’ll take what the road has to offer me, 
	In the Taming of Misfortune’s Pain
 
What’s that you say of experience attained with little gain.
And why are you so serious? You have had your share of pain.
And why does my heart tend to miss you, after suffering a torch drowned in rain?
We’ll both chalk this one for experience, 
	In the Taming of Misfortune’s Pain

	With the Taming of Misfortune's Pain

Wolf, you were free, you were hunting in the sun.
Long before man arrived, you were nature, you were young.
Then we came and survived, we were brothers side by side
 	In the days of the arrow, in the days of the bow.
 	In the days of the spirit, not too long a time ago...
 
Wolf, you were seen by the fathers of our dream
And the hunt you engaged was the blueprint for our age.
Then we learned and we burned with desire to know more.
  	In the dawn that was man’s, they hunted o’er the plains
  	Still the wolf pack set the pace, when the fire was just a flame…
 
  		As plows turn the plains, we ranch on the range.
  		The bison are gone now, the wolf packs remain.
  		In search of the killers of our sheep and our cattle herds,
  		The stockmen are helpless, they request our aid.
  			Defending the rangelands, are we in our roles,
  			To kill thousands of bountiful wolves is our goal.
 
Wolf, where are you in the lower forty eight?
Once you ran through the woods of the eastern seaboard states!
Now you’re gone from the woods, from the mountains, from the plains;
  	They are filled with the still of a vanishing frontier
  	They are broken by the blade, tilling all we once held dear...
 
  		So load on your planes, get a permit for game
  		We'll fly o'er the tundra and muskeg terrain.
  		In search of the killers of our moose and our caribou
  		And all that are helpless, the weak and the lame
  			Protecting the wild are we in our roles
 			Blasting those bountiful wolves down below...
 
Wolf, you were free, you were hunting in the sun.
Long before man arrived, you were nature, you were young.
Then we came and survived, we were brothers side by side
  	In the days of the arrow, in the days of the bow.
  	In the days of the spirit, not too long a time ago
 
  	In the days of the arrow, in the days of the bow.
  	In the days of the spirit, not too long a time ago...

The sun arose far to the east where we had once been born
The orders had been given to be riding before morn.
Mounted men on cavalry we faced a trail of thorns,
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.
 
Reno, Benteen ‘n Custer, were in command that day,
To slaughter Sioux and Cheyenne, camped beyond the glade.
Who would see survival, who would be forlorn?
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.
 
  	I was a soldier who rode to the tune
 	Of a bugler’s “Garryowen” on a June afternoon.
  	Away from my loved ones, away from my home,
  	Apart from the woman that I held as my own.
 		 “A leave will be granted to the man without help,
  		Kills the first savage and brings me his scalp.”
 
For what is the reason for our presence in this land?
Has gold lust or blood thirst taken our command?
It doesn’t really matter now, heading t'wards the storm,
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.
 
There made three battalions from the Seventh Cavalry.
One with Major Reno and another with Benteen.
But glory followed Custer’s men, so with glory we were torn
From the Valley of the Little Big Horn.
 
  	I was a soldier who rode to the tune
  	Of a bugler’s “Garryowen” on a June afternoon.
  	Away from my loved ones, away from my home,
  	Apart from the woman that I held as my own.
  		“Ford the stream and when in camp, kill everyone you see.
  		Long will live this day for us, the Seventh Cavalry.”
 
Fire swept the prairie and dust hid the flames,
When out of the haze rode the Masters of the Plains
Then death they delivered, we invaders from afar,
In the Battle of the Little Big Horn.
 
The sun arose far to the east where we had once been born
The orders had been given to be riding before morn.
Mounted men on cavalry we faced a trail of thorns,
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn

Mounted men on cavalry we faced a trail of thorns...
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn...

The sun had shown on the prairie since time had begun
And gave her mother the earth, for the rivers to run.
 	And he wanted the girl, for his bride to be,
 	And a halo descended and rested on thee,
 		Reserved by the Sun.
 
She came upon me when I was a young twenty-one
A fresh and beautiful clear blue sky maiden she was
 	And we wove through the stars, and the braids became ours,
 	And the strands of our weaving almost were one,
 		If not for the Sun.
 
The time we glided as lovers our souls couldn’t feel,
Our revival was purely the whim of appeal.
 	But the earth called to me and the Sun called to thee
 	And the braids that we wove soon tore undone,
 		She Married the Sun.
 
Now I’m alone on the prairie glaring above,
For if an eagle, I’d battle the Sun for her love.
 	But mortal I am, and she is with him
 	Will I ever forget my lost beautiful one?
 		She Married the Sun.
 		She Married the Sun.

   		She Married the Sun.