Gonna' go to that hill, and get me a gun,
gonna' climb to that height, and look down,
seek a thrill, mark a million man march of the
heart. I can speechify to my heart's content.
Live high. Live low. Get straight. Get bent.
Now, in silence instead, that old crowd shall
disperse. It's Thanksgiving again - no reason,
just is. I remember the people I've met and loved.
Always Thanksgiving, with Winter gloves.