The snow has fallen, on the crest upon the summit
All on down the rusty bridge
Along the ridges, the railways in the distance
Where the gold rush had begun
The pale blue river, the remnants of winter
A rock upon a hill
A feverish shiver, the plains will deliver
In the harshness of the wind
And time will tell us that the wheel will never stop
It’s a race against the clock in this old town
So pack your bags and leave this old life behind
All the treasures you will find’s away from home
A tiny auburn streak of light
From the morning
Pontus 