Roll On, Carry Us

[Verse 1] We left the harbor just after the bells, The train climbed slowly past the cannery walls. A boy with a map said, “that ridge is where My grandfather watched for the first snow there.” Across from him, a woman named june Had a pocketful of postcards from towns we passed through. She pointed out the river cutting silver through stone; By the next long bend, we were trading stories of home. [Chorus] Roll on, carry us over the divide, Past the orchard rows and the mountain side. Every mile gives a stranger a name, Every story leaves us changed all the same. From the red-rock cuts to the northern pine, We’re a little less alone by the county line. Roll on, let the wide world unfold— There’s a whole lot of life in the stories we’re told. [Verse 2] A cook from reno had a laugh like a spark, He’d crossed three states to see his sister in spokane. A quiet young nurse with a blue wool scarf Was heading west after a year on the ward. She told us how a patient taught her to sing; The boy tapped time on the brass window ring. June knew the names of the towns as they came, And the cook made a toast to remembering names. [Chorus] Roll on, carry us over the divide, Past the orchard rows and the mountain side. Every mile gives a stranger a name, Every story leaves us changed all the same. From the red-rock cuts to the northern pine, We’re a little less alone by the county line. Roll on, let the wide world unfold— There’s a whole lot of life in the stories we’re told. [Bridge] At the high pass, the whole car went quiet, Snowfields opened like a page without a title. Then someone asked where we’d be by spring, And everybody had an answer worth hearing. [Final chorus] Roll on, carry us over the divide, Past the orchard rows and the mountain side. Every mile gives a stranger a name, Every story leaves us changed all the same. From the red-rock cuts to the northern pine, We’re a little less alone by the county line. Roll on, while the last hills turn gold— There’s a whole lot of life in the stories we’re told. [Outro] When the station signs slip out of view, I’ll take a little of each of you.