The specifics are minor but the bare bones are there|I'm a late forty-niner, rugged Chinese miner|Mother Lands perish for Mother Lode's promise|of riches and freedom and gold by the nugget||Though it may seem unfair, poor prospects we share|Our efforts combining we managed to bear|A Chinaman's chance in hell is a bet|But progress is promised if I persevere||A dried flower cluster tumbles away|The wind is a whisper, hollowing air|The value of life is something to prove|Our singular paths, the road that we choose