chris was no philosopher
he was an ordinary man
twenty-four and running out of room
a rifle and a pack
and a sack of rice on his back
guided by tolstoy and the moon
into the yukon he would go
in search of a higher truth
christopher would make a break
with his world
but he never escaped his youth

sahara will never be the south of france
obvious with the rising sun
if i had no home
i'd build one in the sand
if i didn't have a love i'd find me one
if i didn't have a love i'd find me one

four months alone in the ice and snow
is a long way from annandale
locals and trappers and eskimos
knew better than to trust that trail
at one with the earth he loved so well
a retreat from civilization
hunger and emptiness took their toll
chris mcandless passed us by...