Dear Mom I am traveling far over the pass,
To a land where the mountains are frozen like grass
Where the trees they are withered, and breath it is lost,
And the wild high plateaus die at night from the frost.\

I'll take my belongings, my wife and guitar
ANd trek o'er the high Eastern mountains so far,
Across the wild desert, leave El Centro behind
And cross the Colorado, Arizona in mind.

The to the high country like a shaft from a bow,
Through the cold desert night to the North I shall go,
Where the cool Verde Valley lies in sunset's cool glow
And the snowcaps of Flagstaff look down on below.

So fare thee well, Moab, and fare-thee-well friends,
All my BS companions, I from posting forfend
To the high desert prairies I travel away,
ANd I dare not malinger to hear what you say.

If e'er I return, it will be with a sigh,
ANd hopes you have managed to keep Mother high,
For sad it would be, to return from the sage,
And learn our poor Mother had fell from the page.

Pray keep her full stoked, with a good flow of air,
Keep Little Hawk real, and pray rescue Rapaire,
And when I return from my travels out yon,
Let me not find my old friends of MOAB are gone.

Yipppe Ki Yay, ki yoooooo.