And we follow the trails in the early dawn
Through the glades where the white frosts lie.
Down where the flaming maples meet;
Where the leaves are blood before our feet
We follow the lure of the twisting paths
While the air tastes thin and sweet.
Leggings and jackets are drenched with dew;
The long thin barrels are cold and blue;
But the glow of the Autumn burns in our veins,
And the eyes and hands are true.