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It's a dreadful land,
And it's long been banned,
     By the one's that fought it's snow.
But, it's full of gold
In the stories told,
     And I knew I had to go.

I sold everything, 
And the diamond ring,
     That had bound me to sweet Anne.
And the one small pack
Resting on my back,
     Was enough for this free man.

Well, his name was Bill,
And he stood quite still,
     As I hiked along the Bear.
I walked up to him,
And he gave a grin,
     As the wind swept through his hair.

Yes, I met him there
In the clean fresh air,
     Of this god forsaken place.
Though he was not old,
Twas a story told,
     In each line upon his face.

Was in '64
That he closed the door,
     On his father's hopeful dreams.
Though, his mother cried
He was not denied
     The spell of the Yukon streams.

It was gold he sought,
And the battles fought,
     Seldom brought him more than pain.
But, an ounce of dust
Would revive his trust,
     In the fortune he would gain.

And it's been like this,
With a sparkling kiss,
     That would block his memory.
Of the bone chilled times,
And the haunting rhymes,
     Of the poem 'bout Sam Magee.

It's an ancient spell,
And the gates of hell,
     Most would rather come upon.
But, it's here he'll stay,
For another day,
     Up until his days are gone.

"Yes, it's rough," he said.
"And there's many dead,
     That were ordinary folks.
It's a special breed,
That will learn to heed,
     Mighty Yukon's deadly jokes."

Well, We stood right there,
By the creek called Bear,
     And I heard his stories told.
"There's a lot of sand
In this dreadful land,
     But, there's really not much gold."

"If fortune you crave,
You can dig your grave,
     In the bed of every stream.
And I hope for you,
In a month or two,
     That you'll know just what I mean."

"Break the fever friend,
It'll bring an end,
     Of the dream to fill your sack.
Throw away your pan.
Call your dear, sweet Anne.
     And I'm sure she'll take you back."

His advice was sound.
I was glad I'd found,
     Such a wise and honest man.
Now I'm on my way,
To a better day,
     In the arms of my sweet Anne.


And... Old Bill sits back,
In his creek side shack,
     Counting nuggets found today.
With a wise man's smile,
And a cunning style,
     That can turn the best away.
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