As I walk through the
wilderness of this world,
A drifter alone from the lost land of Ur,
I search for a town far away in the west,
A place pilgrims call...
Progress.
I follow the sound
of the old mentioned bells
Oh Padre, I pray,
won't you show me the trail?
The desert is dusty
and I must confess
I can't seem to make progress
Go down in the river,
wash clean in the blood,
have faith in the giver,
repent before the sun goes down,
the way ahead is to turn
around to progress.
My vision was clear
as I counted the cost
A pilgrim progressing,
I took up my cross
Outlaws were gunning to put me to rest
But still I moved on to pro gress
I passed by the crowds of the Vanity Fair
Escaped from the pit of the giant's despair
I walked through the veil
of the shadow of death
Still so far away from progress
I drank from the river,
washed clean in the flood,
gave thanks to the giver,
I headed out as the sun went down
and had to reach the hallowed
ground of progress.
It was good will who found me
and gave me his youth
That old tracker watchful
led straight to the truth
And Bayhark beside me
stood strong through the test
Till it fully got to pro gress
My spirit grew strong with
the passing of years,
and as my eyes faded,
my sight became clear.
Ahead flowed the water of
life and of death,
beyond stood the home
of progress.
I crossed through the river,
washed clean in the blood.
I bowed to the giver,
led me through the holy quest,
made a place where I could rest
in the kingdom of the blessed.
In progress, in progress,
this pilgrim made progress,
oh, made pro gress.