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Sacramento's steam whistle stirs the barren plain
Contracts bear fingerprints as light as fleeting rain
Beyond the snowline, fate unfolds its endless test—
A hundred thousand hammer blows for every inch progressed
Gold Mountain Road winds through centuries of smoke and dreams
Beneath the ties, a drifting sail sleeps without a seam
They measured Nevada's winter with the strength of weary backs
While silent rail spikes rust in winds—oaths lost on endless tracks
A bamboo basket cradles dynamite on a cliff's ragged edge
Black powder etches verses on granite's solemn pledge
For thirty miles, frozen sheds suspend time in their icy grip
The iron rails borne on a yoke are lonelier than moonlight's slip
When the golden spike is driven into history's silent page
Each shutter blurs the Eastern face, erased by time's rampage
Pacific winds scatter cash on graves in a restless art—
Only ancient Chinese walls guard promises that never start
Gold Mountain Road now winds through an abyss of forgotten dreams
The ink on pay slips cuts deeper than an avalanche's screams
They carved their surnames into the honor of far-off Cape Horn's light
And silent rail spikes weep in spring—whispering regrets and hope tonight
When freight trains crush the faded snapshots of yesterday
Fragments of Cantonese lullabies echo from stone, far away
The dawns that never reached our hands will finally break free
At every end of the iron track, a cotton tree blooms to be