Stood alone on a mountain top, starin' out at the Great Divide. I could go east, I could go west, it was all up to me to decide. Just then I saw a young hawk flyin' and my soul began to rise.

It's the age of reason for the anarchist.

It's a rite of passage for the everyman, to a higher ground.

He wants his home and security, he wants to live like a sailor at sea.