I wonder if anybody lives out on the limb
I’m not wearing a dead man’s clothes
I don’t have to worry about getting ambushed
My homestead is mine and nobody minds
The frontier is no longer about stealing land
It’s about why young men take their own lives

I’m not casting any nets because I live in one
I’m caught already and tangled up in twine
I don’t have a horse to cross a river full of ice
I don’t have a people, but I have a family
I don’t know what I am anymore to anyone
But the sun on a golden canvas is still my friend

I gave her so many hints I thought I wrote a book
But she won’t move like she’s a stone in the tide
Then she tried to get me to meet her friend
It was like a trickle of water to fill my canteen
Was she as afraid of me leaving as I am of staying?
There’s plenty of time to talk about things like that

The river I once crossed by bridge waits for my sins
The melted ice tells stories of warm beds of silt
Where the river ends is where my fingers join yours
Somebody else can choose the time of my funeral
I can only choose the road that I want to walk
And if dust be my skin then you will be my bath