It looks like a mile to the valley below
the next man went over and he went down slow
I lie on this bunk and listen to the rainfall
it's work, stop and start over again
And it takes a stranger to understand
what the wind says in a strange land
The wind says:
this year, next year
this year, next year
this year, next year
and I kiss you I kiss you I kiss you
every shift of this life
They guard their comfort like they're guarding gold
we danced all night in the boxcars to keep out the cold
That freedom that they love so well
is nothing but the echo of an old cracked bell
The bell says:
this year, next year &c
at the edge of the wealth of the world
