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Stephen Simmons
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West
So I headed West
And I hopped a train
Traded my old dirt plow
For a prospecting claim
San Francisco
The Golden Coast
On the edge of the New World
Lit with an ambitious glow
The Son of a migrant
From the Old World's shores
Scottish-Irish mixed with the blood of the Native born
In love with a Gypsy
Fleeing Revolution in a foreign land
Her Father seeks the yellow color
Like I seek his Daughter's hand
Working on the railroad to make my way
The creeks of Brysonville now lie so far away
Still she waits
Chorus:
Heaven can be found
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When she lets her gold hair down
On any field that she lay
There's a tremble in the ground
When you let that poor girl down
In the California Earth is what they say
Staring into the evening Sun
At the end of a long work day
Alone with your thoughts
Aside the hammer's heavy weight
I memorized
Every soft line on her face
And not a million miles of railroad ties
Could ever erase
The blood in my veins would surely turn to sand
Should I arrive too late to be her man
I prey she waits
Chorus
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