| The ghost of a building that once was a barn
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| Leans on itself on an old ghost-town farm
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| Its posts are all crippled
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| It’s tired, it’s done
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| Lays down to rest like a dog in the sun
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| Dust devils boil as they stretch for the sky
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| As if thirsty for more than the earth can provide
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| Sprinklers are quiet, hay’s two bucks a bale
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| Just a piece of the west on the Oregon Trail
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| And if I were a cowboy I’d dance until dawn
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| If I were a cowboy I’d sing this song
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| Now the foothills roll on like a fabric of green
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| They fold in on themselves with no stitch and no seam
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| Higher to the mountains just fog and fir trees
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| If we haven’t reached heaven we’re at least at its knees
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| Corridors cut through these mountains of snow
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| Winding our way to the next makeshift home
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| So many ways out I forget where I am
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| So many ways out when a map’s in your hand
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| And if I were a cowboy I’d dance until dawn
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| If I were a cowboy I’d sing this song
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| Out here the land is untouched and it’s wide
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| There is no great progress, no great divide
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| The land seems so empty but with each step I know
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| Someone’s been here before me with a story untold
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| Clouds in the valley
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| Dark shadows a break
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| A ghost creepin' and sweepin'
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| The dirt from his pain
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| Raindrops and teardrops
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| Just two bucks a bale
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| Another day in the west on the Oregon Trail
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| And if I were a cowboy I’d dance until dawn
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| If I were a cowboy I’d sing this song
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| And if I were a cowboy I’d dance until dawn
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| If I were a cowboy I’d sing this song |