By John Gilbride

Head west into that gentle hill

Where the weeds grow and the cattle graze.

Cut the fences in your way, seize your noble freedom and goodwill.

The red rock sanded down by smooth and subtle will,

And the wind calls your name in a blaze.

Head west into those gentle hills.

Leave the concrete jungle and endure the solemn desert to fulfill.

Find your way into the sand where no one says no way.

Cut the fences in your way, seize your noble freedom and goodwill.

Where the men ride free, free from condemnation of bills. 

Come to the place with no rules everyday.

Head west into that gentle hill.

The sun strikes warm and strong against the foothills,

There is infinite room for anyone, anyone, to play.

Cut the fences in your way, seize your noble freedom and goodwill.

Run without care and feel the rock beneath your feet, rest under the tree to chill

Let the world tell you of it’s secrets let it guide you form your maze.

Head west into that gentle hill

Cut the fences in your way, seize your noble freedom and goodwill.