The End

The End

If Jim Morrison of the Doors had lived and experienced living in Island Park, his song “The End” might have sounded something like this:

This is the end, beautiful friend

This is the end, of winter’s grip, the end.

Of nature’s cloak of white, the end

Of snow machines’ loud whine, the end

No safety or surprise, the end

I wait for warmer skies again

Can you picture what will be, so green and snow free?

Desperately in need of some stranger’s hand, in a muddy land

Stuck up to the axels in mud

This sight-seeing trip turned into a dud

I should have waited until the end of the flood

Now I have to call and wait for my bud

There is danger through the center of town

People drive too fast on highway 20, baby

Drivers swerve to avoid a moose

Slow down on highway 20, baby

Fish the Snake; fish the Snake,

Or the lake, Henry’s Lake, baby

The snake is long, many miles

Fish the snake, it’s clear and you may see some deer

The west is the best, the west is the best

Get here and you’ll get some rest

Spring bear season is calling us

Spring bear season is calling us

The first big game hunt is worth the fuss

The hunter awoke before dawn, he put his boots on

He took a bow from its rack and he walked on down the hall

He went into the room where his wife slept, kissed her

And then he gathered up his day pack

And then he walked on down the hall

He came to the door and he walked outside

Father, please bless me with a successful hunt

And protect my family while I am gone

Next time, come on a hunt with us,

Next time, come on a hunt with us

I’ll meet you back at the cabin tonight, baby

This is the end, beautiful friend

The end