In the silence of the over hanging morning
I can still feel the end of the town
It is of the rheo and the wrentime sort of affair
That sorts the men from the boys and doesn’t
Mean to help it all to get south of the border
In time for Christmas. I would be a new
Adventure if the real cowboys could give
And get as they hope and receive reward.
I will not be dead unless you all fill my shoes
With lead and then I shall be most affort ‘o
Making a new one for the rendo of the word.
I will not be then and now the one who is to feel it.
I will be then and always the one
who gets the ball and then gets it all.
Copyright 2016 Bruce E Saunders