Paradise Hill
© 2008 Mark Witters

Front Street Dawson, frigid night,
Twisted meanings, shards of light.
Trails of broken dreams and never-wills.
Reeking liquor, muddy glass,
Elusive gold is gone so fast.
Sleepin' tonight on Paradise Hill.

Angels voices, prostitutes,
Men of good and ill-repute.
Populate a city never still.
Some are with, some without luck,
Horses trudge knee-deep in muck.
Sleepin' tonight on Paradise Hill.

What I sought and found is me-
Off again for home I'll be.
One-time Cheechako-had my fill!
Turned and saw a mighty flame-
Beaten at their own very game.
They're sleepin tonight on Paradise Hill.