I have no doubt at all the Devil grins,
As seas of ink I spatter.
Ye gods, forgive my "literary" sins -
The other kind don't matter.
There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't sit still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,
and the trail has its own stern code.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success; If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.
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