Canol Road - text
Well you could see it in his eyes
As they strained against the night
And the bone-white-knuckled
Grip upon the road
Sixty-five miles into town
And a winter's thirst to drown
A winter still with two months left to go
As they strained against the night
And the bone-white-knuckled
Grip upon the road
Sixty-five miles into town
And a winter's thirst to drown
A winter still with two months left to go
His eyes are too far open
His grin too hard and sore
His shoulders too far high to bring relief
But the Kopper King is hot
Even if the band is not
And it sure beats shooting whiskey-jacks
And trees
His grin too hard and sore
His shoulders too far high to bring relief
But the Kopper King is hot
Even if the band is not
And it sure beats shooting whiskey-jacks
And trees
Then he laughs and says:
"It didn't get me this time, not tonight
I wasn't screaming when I hit the door."
But his hands on the tabletop
Will their shaking never stop
Those hands sweep the bottles to the floor
"It didn't get me this time, not tonight
I wasn't screaming when I hit the door."
But his hands on the tabletop
Will their shaking never stop
Those hands sweep the bottles to the floor
Now he's a bear in a blood-red mackinaw
With hungry dogs at bay
And springtime thunder in his sudden roar
With one wrong word he burns
And the table's overturned
When he's finished there's a dead man
On the floor
With hungry dogs at bay
And springtime thunder in his sudden roar
With one wrong word he burns
And the table's overturned
When he's finished there's a dead man
On the floor
Well they watched for him in Carmacks
Haines, and Carcross
With Teslin blocked there's nowhere else to go
But he hit the four-wheel-drive
In Johnson's Crossing
Now he's thirty-eight miles up the Canol road
He's thirty-eight miles up the Canol road
In the Salmon Range at forty-eight below
Haines, and Carcross
With Teslin blocked there's nowhere else to go
But he hit the four-wheel-drive
In Johnson's Crossing
Now he's thirty-eight miles up the Canol road
He's thirty-eight miles up the Canol road
In the Salmon Range at forty-eight below
Well it's God's own neon green
Above the mountains here tonight
Throwing brittle coloured shadows on the snow
It's four more hours 'til dawn
And the gas is almost gone
And that bitter Yukon wind begins to blow
Above the mountains here tonight
Throwing brittle coloured shadows on the snow
It's four more hours 'til dawn
And the gas is almost gone
And that bitter Yukon wind begins to blow
Now you can see it in his eyes
As they glitter in the light
And the bone-white rime of frost around his brow
Too late the dawn has come
That Yukon winter has won
And he's got his cure for cabin fever now
As they glitter in the light
And the bone-white rime of frost around his brow
Too late the dawn has come
That Yukon winter has won
And he's got his cure for cabin fever now
Well they watched for him in Carmacks
Haines, and Carcross
With Teslin blocked there's nowhere else to go
But they hit the four-wheel-drive
In Johnson's Crossing
Found him thirty-eight miles
Up the Canol road
They found him thirty-eight miles
Up the Canol road
In the Salmon Range at forty-eight below
They found him thirty-eight miles
Up the Canol road
Haines, and Carcross
With Teslin blocked there's nowhere else to go
But they hit the four-wheel-drive
In Johnson's Crossing
Found him thirty-eight miles
Up the Canol road
They found him thirty-eight miles
Up the Canol road
In the Salmon Range at forty-eight below
They found him thirty-eight miles
Up the Canol road
