On days like these, I look to the west,
seeing the dusky mountains, reliably in formation,
and my mind drifts skyward like hawks possessed;
I start to daydream of the wild midwest.
I sit atop my stallion, whiskey on my saddle,
surrounded by solitude as I dash through the trees
while the sunlit wind plays with my hair as I straddle
through the untamed lands catching outlaw disease.
Whirlwinds brush the dirt off my brim of my hat,
riding through nameless territories void of borders,
happy, nay, blissful to explore the wide open space,
who could wake up while riding at this pace?
Setting my spurred boots upon the wooden chest
I stoke the fire and the cabin smells of leather,
my tired cowboy soul sleeps through the stormy weather,
ready to again race into the western sunset.