The wind whipped back my hair
as me and my buck-skin quarter horse
walked across the dry plain
no sight of reality
just me, the horse, and the plain
the sunsets vibrant colors were hidden by the shattering clouds
One Indians paintbrush rested in the endless field
I imagined an old ghost town as I rode through emptiness
wagons passing through a busy road
horses ******* to hitching post
some men rolling out of a bar
Girls in giant dresses walking with their guys
Cowboys with their big shiny pistols
talking and laughing
but this was all stolen away
by a new revolution
I'm only reminded by imaginations of finding it
I look and see the ghost of an old time sheriff
with a big ol hat
sitting in a rocking chair
just waiting for some one to break the law
this town wasn't for fancy business men
or ****** rich girls
this was for the tough
the enduring
those who can ride a horse
punch a man
shoot a gun
rely on themselves
rope a cow
and do some ***** work
those who can drink a shot of whiskey
without coughing or choking
but those days are now gone
lost in the dust that is blown in my face
but the memories remain
the ghost's remain
that is what the revolution couldn't steal.