© 2008 Mark Witters
Caught up in a current, Dawson bound.
Some are still in saw pits in Tent Town.
Seven thousand craft on an emerald lake;
Eleven thousand dreams each has to take.
On to Miles Canyon, caldrons boil.
We'll shoot the rapids while some recoil.
Some chose to pack their things around,
Other ran them right into the ground.
Rode the Whitehorse past the Sticks.
Never get yourself in another fix!
Through the Lewes, then another lake.
Thirty-mile twists just like a snake.
Then Split-up City, sailed on through.
With all those promises torn in two.
But things are different right around the bend,
For then, we'll reach the rainbow's end...