I grew up a-dreaming of being a cowboy,
And Loving the cowboy ways.
Pursuing the life of my high-riding heroes,
I burned up my childhood days.
I learned of all the rules of the modern-day drifter,
Don't you hold on to nothing too long.
Just take what you need from the ladies, then leave them,
With the words of a sad country song.
My heroes have always been cowboys.
And they still are, it seems.
Sadly, in search of, but one step in back of,
Themselves and their slow-moving dreams.
Cowboys are special with their own brand of misery,
From being alone too long.
You could die from the cold in the arms of a nightmare,
Knowing well that your best days are gone.
Picking up hookers instead of my pen,
I let the words of my years fade away.
Old worn-out saddles, and 'old worn-out memories,
With no one and no place to stay.
My heroes have always been cowboys.
And they still are, it seems.
Sadly, in search of, but one step in back of,
Themselves and their slow-moving dreams.
Sadly, in search of, but one step in back of,
Themselves and their slow-moving dreams.
