No Roads Here

CHORUS:

There are no roads here

There are no signposts

To guide a man thru this dark land

There are no roads here

There is no history

No written law to stay one's hand

Well there's a growed over wagon trail that's headed for the west

There's a tipi ring out to Purple Springs if your ponies need their rest

There's a shepherd out in Vauxhall in the coulees who may know

But the sheep shack's old and leaning and that was sixty years ago

CHORUS

Well, I see handcarts pulled by desperate settlers bent under the yoke

Fleeing lives of certain serfdom for this new faith of which he spoke

Trekking 'cross the desert with a few intrepid Danes

There's times I still think I can feel the blood of Vikings in my veins

I hear "Strawberry Roan" and there's bison bones been bleached out in the sun

South of Raymond, whiskey trade, the antelope still run

Hidden family reasons at the edge of consciousness

Silhouettes of grazing cattle on that olde Milk River Ridge

CHORUS