Lonesome is the call of the six-stringer
When long are the shadows on his desert
In the West, the mythic West
Tall grow the tales written day by day
To the lowly old tempo of a four-beat-gait
In the West, the mythic West
A timeless wail
echoes through the canyon
Of a dry river bed
and back into the ages
A rusted old sun for a tea cup moon
If he’s quick on the draw, he’ll see it again soon
In the West, the mythic West
(2026 verse)
High up on the plains of old Mexico
Real rough riders out gunning for gold
In the West, the mythic West
