Corb Lund

Corb Lund - No Roads Here

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CHORUS:<br />

There are no roads here<br />

There are no signposts<br />

To guide a man thru this dark land<br />

There are no roads here<br />

There is no history<br />

No written law to stay one's hand<br />

<br />

Well there's a growed over wagon trail that's headed for the west<br />

There's a tipi ring out to Purple Springs if your ponies need their rest<br />

There's a shepherd out in Vauxhall in the coulees who may know<br />

But the sheep shack's old and leaning and that was sixty years ago<br />

<br />

CHORUS<br />

<br />

Well, I see handcarts pulled by desperate settlers bent under the yoke<br />

Fleeing lives of certain serfdom for this new faith of which he spoke<br />

Trekking 'cross the desert with a few intrepid Danes<br />

There's times I still think I can feel the blood of Vikings in my veins<br />

<br />

I hear "Strawberry Roan" and there's bison bones been bleached out in the sun<br />

South of Raymond, whiskey trade, the antelope still run<br />

Hidden family reasons at the edge of consciousness<br />

Silhouettes of grazing cattle on that olde Milk River Ridge<br />

<br />


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