T. C. 1

The sun’s shining out from over the hills
and heading to the sea.
I’ve been so long on T. C. 1,
but that’s the way it’s gotta be.

There’s a lady waiting for me in New York.
She said she’d hang around.
But I’ve got a lot of road to go
before I’ll ever settle down.

I slept in the park in the town of Banff,
with a hundred hikers like me,
heading down the highway, chasing the sun,
to make a turning at the sea.

South to San Francisco or L. A.,
that’s where they want to go.
But I’ll go north to Rupert, B. C.,
Where trees and cold rivers flow.

I’m saving fifty dollars for the Alaska boat,
my last ride on the way.
I’ll get me a job on a fishing boat
in the town of Wrangell on the bay.

It hurts, at first, to breathe the wind.
It’s cold and blowing you down.
But when you’ve fought and made your peace,
it’s great to walk the frozen ground.

I think about my lady in the night,
but mostly I see me
heading down that highway, chasing the sun,
and making that turning at the sea.

The sun’s shining out from over the hills
and heading to the sea.
I’ve been so long on T. C. 1,
but that’s the way it’s gotta be.