Laughing and crying, living and dying
they blew like a wind cross the plains.
Roping and tying and drinking and lying
now only the legend remains.
Tough towns like Ellsworth, Sedalia and Dodge.
Deadwood and Denver and more.
The herds moved to railheads up dusty old trails.
The hoof beats grew into a roar.
But the wilderness shrank as the brief years flew by.
And the boys couldn’t quite understand
that the life they were living would soon disappear,
like their boot prints in soft desert sand.
It was beef for the east and land for the taking.
Gold and silver they dug from the ground.
Such a brief time it lasted, then the wild times were gone
and today only traces are found.
Just a few wagon wheels rot out on the plains.
Some ghost towns are scattered about.
The worn trails are gone now, erased by the years.
In the wind can you hear Drovers’ shouts?
Now progress has covered the land like a fog
and washed away memories like rain.
The West is still here but it's no longer wild.
For only the legend remains.
It's locked in the hearts of old men like me
who grew up with the stories of old.
If we pass on the those tales, the Old West will live.
And the legends will never grow cold.
"Remember the Cowboys!", I shout to the wind.
Their spirit lives on in me still.
I have not forgotten their wild happy days.
And I vow here that I never will.
