Chris was no philosopher He was an ordinary man Twenty-four and running out of room A rifle and a pack And a sack of rice on his back Guided by Tolstoy and the moon Into the Yukon he would go In search of a higher truth Christopher would make a break With this world But he never escaped his youth Sahara will never be the south of france Obvious with the rising sun If I had no home I'd build one in the sand If I didn't have a love I'd find me one If I didn't have a love I'd find me one Four months alone in the ice and snow Is a long way from Annandale Locals and trappers and Eskimos Knew better than to trust that trail At one with the earth he loved so well A retreat from the civilized Hunger and emptiness took their toll Chris mcandless passed us by... Chorus