Sean Hills - What's Left of Sam McGee, Pt. 2 lyrics
[Sean Hills - What's Left of Sam McGee, Pt. 2 lyrics]
There wasn't a breath in that land
Of death, and I hurried, horror-driven
With a corpse half hid that
I couldn't get rid
Because of a promise given
It was lashed to the sleigh
And it seemed to say You may
Tax your brawn and brains
But, you promised true
And it's up to you to
Cremate those last remains
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid
And the trail has it's own stern code
In the days to come, though
My lips were dumb
In my heart how I cursed that load
In the long, long night, by the
Lone firelight, while the huskies
Round in a ring
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows
O God! how I loathed the thing
And every day that quiet clay seemed
To heavy and heavier grow and on I went
Though the dogs were spent and
The grub was getting low
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad
But, I swore I would not give in
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing
And it hearkened with a grin
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge
And a derelict there lay
It was jammed in the ice
But, I saw in a trice it
Was called the Alice May
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit
And I looked at my frozen chum
Then Here, said I, with a sudden cry
Is my cre ma-tor-eum
Of death, and I hurried, horror-driven
With a corpse half hid that
I couldn't get rid
Because of a promise given
It was lashed to the sleigh
And it seemed to say You may
Tax your brawn and brains
But, you promised true
And it's up to you to
Cremate those last remains
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid
And the trail has it's own stern code
In the days to come, though
My lips were dumb
In my heart how I cursed that load
In the long, long night, by the
Lone firelight, while the huskies
Round in a ring
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows
O God! how I loathed the thing
And every day that quiet clay seemed
To heavy and heavier grow and on I went
Though the dogs were spent and
The grub was getting low
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad
But, I swore I would not give in
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing
And it hearkened with a grin
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge
And a derelict there lay
It was jammed in the ice
But, I saw in a trice it
Was called the Alice May
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit
And I looked at my frozen chum
Then Here, said I, with a sudden cry
Is my cre ma-tor-eum