In the cold, narrow streets of old Santa Fe,
In a secluded, warm cafe
I contemplate America;
And how, as a boy I never thought twice of the name
Until I saw the desert and gazed at the sun
Which rose slow outside Roswell, New Mexico
On a state road where not a single car drove, and
Where I saw so clear the mighty stars
In the early morning hours over the fallen snow
It is true you have a soul.
Tell me was it you?
Or was it God speaking to me though the sun and the snow?
Should man ever speak the end of his road
Grow silent, afraid and stand all alone
Whatever you are, whatever you mean
Let him realize his power and his dreams
For in the manifestation lies all you power still,
All you great creation.