Driving the roads over the mountains of land and scrub; the roads curve and weave – the roads of passage and opportunity.

Let’s drive the golden highways to the great golden West – where the sun sets on golden dreams and hopes.

Before this great, golden passage, the darkness of ash and deadness devastate the eyes of reason.

Valleys of black, lifelessness breaks the heart; breaks the soul of this sacred, southern land.

The silence of the dead trees pull away at the creation of life; a silence of the creation of natural land and memory.

Melt away these visions, start again these truths; the journey of darkness must see the new dawn of day.

The sun still shines out here in the West – look at these dead trees; keep looking, keep seeing.