-I first got good with a running iron, and then I got good at running.
Bullets sung past me and one clipped my vest; hoodoos in Bryce Canyon watching.
Horses, I had waiting and I thank the good lord they did not wander off hobbled.
Buggies I rode, in lanes lined with willows, I was courting her up in Lander.
Banks, oh I hit em', they were just sitting there with money for this cowboy.
Trains were my specialty, I stopped them, and robbed them; blew safes
into fragments like fringed leather.
But I was just looking for that green valley, where the water flowed meandering, lazy, where the dew was tender, and the cottonwoods shimmered. I wanted a white house with a porch and children, who loved to feed their ponies in the mourning. her hair piled high was my longing. And peace was the sound of my day.
Posters of me were sent over, the post offices, jails, and taverns.
Pinkertons, with handlebar mustaches, took shotguns, rifles and saddles.
Telegraph wires sent clicks, stops, and dashes.
Sweat was on horses I rode, badly winded.
Gunfire, down in Robbers Roost, told me it was time to move on.
But I was just looking for her thick braid that she wore to our bed in the nighttime.
Good hard work until mealtime.
Buds in the branches of springtime. A corral full of horses, and a barn full of hay and slotted sunshine.
Scabbards held guns in Argentina. I took once again to thivin'.
Pistols, I'm using, I've got no one else to blame for my livin.'
Partners, I've had a few good ones, Elzy, Sundance and Warner.
Sagebrush was my true companion, but it don't grow down here in the Andes.
Blue sky I've rode under, in Wyoming, Utah, and Chile.
But I was just looking for that fireplace, where aspen logs burned every Christmas.
Fine china for my lady, on Sunday.
Visiting folks in the parlor, a life of peace and no hunger.
But every choice I've made took me farther, from my home, my future and her.