From yesterday is where I come from, my life is 
 With a wife and child,

 Seeking a new life and possibly a different place 
 Of settling down.

 We are pioneers of the early nineteenth century 
 Traveling across

 The hot desert where there is much hardship, sickness 
 And hunger,

 There's a chance I must take as my son is very sick 
 With fever this day.

 I say goodbye to all in our wagon train for now as I 
 Say perhaps there

 Over the hill I will find help, faith walks with me as 
 I begin my quest

 Over the hill to a different world as I pass over the 
 Top of the ridge.

  Am I dreaming as these impossible things appear before 
 My tired eyes,

 The wagon train is gone, vanished into the air, this 
 Can not be.

 I see traveling machines, music, and that which can not 
 Possibly exist,

 People so different, I'm looked at so strangely as I 
 Tell of my plight.

 My son is sick I say, he's over that hill, a kind woman 
 She was,

 A bottle, something inside, these will make him better 
 I'm told.

 I must go now, I run for the hill, I climb as this world 
 Is not mine,

 At the top I now see again my world and wagon train, I 
 Look back.

 The world I walked into is now gone, only desert I left 
 Behind, my son does not die.
                             Keith Garrett

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