Mr. Powell

just about a hundred years or so ago

ten men rode their way down the mighty colorado

and as I read about their journey

I couldn't help but feel a very similar yearning

to mr. powell

and I wish that I could have been there with him

the way he talked about the river, I could tell

the revelations he must have felt within himself,

the realization of what man's supposed to do,

I feel it too

as they would ride over the waves

as they would glide over the waves

the river forged its way through canyons

that were so high that the clouds would float within them

cascade fountains moss surrounded

on through a gorge grand beyond description

and the river rolls

and like a whirlpool it sets my mind to spinnin'

can you imagine walls that went so high

the sky would be nothing more than a single thin blue line

and rocks would rainbow their way up to the sky

as they would ride over the waves

as they would glide over the waves

you'd hear them singing, singing

ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh,

ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh...