Seven long years since that sawdusty floor
stamped with those footstomps that pounded the score,
and we was grinning like daydreams,
a half-tank of gas from L.A.,
Where the desert winds whipped up, but inside the room,
fiddles and mandolins called out the tunes-
it was old country music, with a young Townes crowing his blues
like a night-time, Lone-Pine Brandy swigging fool,
But as his laughing eyes hypnotized, all that there stood
between me and my lady was a bucket of could the night
turn into daisies, like a fancy romance novel would?
and on that line, that fine evening, she made good..
Oh, and she danced like the flame on a kerosene ribbon,
just flashing her youth as she twirled,
and when in the morning her kisses adoringly woke me,
we uncurled-
But now that lady's long gone, and that old saloon
stands far from these steel frames and big-city fumes,
well the life here ain't gravy,
but a beggar can't pick what he chews,
And then flipping through pages on a magazine rack,
I saw that come Tuesday, not far from these tracks,
that lonesome-pine cowboy who had lit my life seven years back,
he'd be crying love, so I lined up for that act-
Oh and I came with a damsel so fair, and she fancifully
granted one fine dance or two,
but the room there was colder, the cowboy was older, and sober
through and through;
and upon the next morning, snowflakes a-falling, I smiled at the frost-bitten truth,
that a story, once closed, it can be juxtaposed, but an echo can't ring like it's new.
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