On our way to Santa Fe,

Left our past in the Cimarron grass;

Santa Fe, Santa Fe,

Lies beyond Glorieta pass, but..

 

Sangre de Cristo guards a mighty land

From the Pecos to the Rio Grande;

Oxen bulls tow wagons full,

They're pulling our way to our new day.

 

So we pray for Santa Fe,

At the end of the westward trail;

Santa Fe, Santa Fe,

San Francisco's Villa Real!

 

900 miles through Comanche lands--

Sands of desert, snakes and storms;

We've survived, have now arrived,

Making our way to our new day.

 

So we pray for Santa Fe,

At the end of the westward trail;

Santa Fe, Santa Fe,

San Francisco's Villa Real!