There are strange                the midnight sun
 By the men     moil for gold;
 The Arctic trails      their secret tales
 That would make      blood run cold;
 The Northern Lights      seen queer sights,
 But the queerest      ever did see
 Was that night                                cremated Sam McGee.

 Now Sam McGee                                      blooms and blows.
 Why he left                                                God only knows.
 He was always                                                like a spell;
 Though he'd often                                         live in hell".

 On a Christmas                                  the Dawson trail.
 Talk of your                                                a driven nail.
 If our eyes                                                could not see;
 T'was not much                                  was Sam McGee.

 And that very                                            beneath the snow,
 And the dogs                                               heel and toe,
 He turns to                                            trip, I guess;
 And if I                                 my last request."

 Well, he seemed                                                    sort of moan:
 "It's the cursed                                                              to the bone.
 Yet 'taint being                                        grave that pains;
 So I want                                                 my last remains."

 A pal's last                                       would not fail;
 And we started                                       looked ghastly pale.
 He crouched on                                         home in Tennessee;
 And before nightfall                                of Sam McGee.

 There wasn't a                                   I hurried, horror-driven,
 With a corpse                                               a promise given;
 It was lashed                                                        brawn and brains,
 But you promised                                     those last remains."

 Now a promise                                              own stern code.
 In the days                                                      cursed that load.
 In the long,                                                              in a ring,
 Howled out their                                            loathed that thing.

 And every day                                 and heavier grow;
 And on I                                               was getting low;
 The trail was                                           not give in;
 And I'd often                                             with a grin.

 Till I came                                     derelict there lay;
 It was jammed                                                the "Alice May."
 So I looked                                             my frozen chum;
 Then "Here," says                       "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

 Some planks I                                    the boiler fire;
 Some coal I                                         the fuel higher;
 The flames just                                            you seldom see;
 I burrowed a                                         in Sam McGee.

 Then I took                                   him sizzle so;
 And the heavens                                               began to blow.
 It was icy                                                      don't know why;
 And the greasy                                       down the sky.

 I do not                                      with grisly fear;
 But the stars                                          I ventured near;
 I was sick                                                 a peep inside.
 I guess he's                                           I opened wide.

 And there sat                                             the furnace roar;
 He wore a                                                  close the door.
 It's fine in                                            cold and storm.
 Since I left                                                  I've been warm."

 There are strange                                                 moil for gold;
 The Arctic trails                                               blood run cold;
 The Northern Lights                                               ever did see
 Was that night                                cremated Sam McGee.
I want this page as a PDF.  View recital by Jon.