The red dirt runs like blood through my veins,
The wind that fills my lungs rattles window panes,
I am the product of calloused hands and all that they have made,
I am Texas,

I reflect the barren beauty of my home,
I write down wisdom only grandmothers know,
I live on the sweat of my father's brow, a man who reaps what he sows,
I am Texas,

My voice is the hymn the church goers sing,
Whether or not they believe in what the Lord will bring,
For love or loss or redemption or rain we sing,
I am Texas,

I have seen the fires burn the open plains,
And scattered dirt, like their ashes, over freshly dug graves,
And seen new growth take both their place,
I am Texas,

I have gone from clear skies to rain,
I have cried out, like rolling thunder, in pain,
I have struck out like lightning in blinding rage,
I am Texas,

But my love has bloomed like bluebonnets in the spring,
I have spoken as sweetly as the mockingbird sings,
My touch has been as soft as the whitest cotton you've seen,
I am Texas.