When there's one day here and the next day gone
Sometimes you bend, Sometimes you stand
Sometimes you turn your back to the wind.
There's a world outside every darkened door
Where blues won't haunt you anymore
Where the brave are free and lovers soar
Come ride with me to the distant shore.
We wont hesitate Break down the garden gate There's not much left todayLife is a Highway
I want to ride it all night long
If you're going my way
I want to drive it all night long
There's no load I can't hold
Road so rough this I know
I'll be there when the light comes in
Tell'em we're survivors
~~~ Tom Cochrane
4 comments:
Love the pictures!
We ARE survivors, our family. I'm glad Jim brought another one home and made you his wife. Just remember, we're tough enough. Tough enough to get the job done. Just like our ancestors who rode a covered wagon west and homesteaded the farm back when it was still Oregon Territory. My great-great-grandfather rode horses with the Indian boys from down around Almota all over the hills, and would be waiting for them as they came thundering up whooping and holloring to get their friend. Scared the women folk half to death every time. They had been called on to fight Indians on their way west and were a tad skittish, as mom used to say. There was a quilt top in the family that one of them had been piecing together one evening by the camp fire when Indians attacked and put an arrow through it. Aunt Em had it in her old trunk for years. Don't know what became of it.
We ARE survivors, our family. I'm glad Jim brought another one home and made you his wife. Just remember, we're tough enough. Tough enough to get the job done. Just like our ancestors who rode a covered wagon west and homesteaded the farm back when it was still Oregon Territory. My great-great-grandfather rode horses with the Indian boys from down around Almota all over the hills, and would be waiting for them as they came thundering up whooping and holloring to get their friend. Scared the women folk half to death every time. They had been called on to fight Indians on their way west and were a tad skittish, as mom used to say. There was a quilt top in the family that one of them had been piecing together one evening by the camp fire when Indians attacked and put an arrow through it. Aunt Em had it in her old trunk for years. Don't know what became of it.
We ARE survivors, our family. I'm glad Jim brought another one home and made you his wife. Just remember, we're tough enough. Tough enough to get the job done. Just like our ancestors who rode a covered wagon west and homesteaded the farm back when it was still Oregon Territory. My great-great-grandfather rode horses with the Indian boys from down around Almota all over the hills, and would be waiting for them as they came thundering up whooping and holloring to get their friend. Scared the women folk half to death every time. They had been called on to fight Indians on their way west and were a tad skittish, as mom used to say. There was a quilt top in the family that one of them had been piecing together one evening by the camp fire when Indians attacked and put an arrow through it. Aunt Em had it in her old trunk for years. Don't know what became of it.
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