It Used To Be An Open Range

In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change— In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange, How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range. I know now how it must have felt when they strung the range with barbed wire— An era ended on those plains; the land and men put up for hire— A way of life and freedom gone – a hard rain that put out the fire. And nowadays in word and rhyme, it seems poets are all fenced in— To write of history and yesterday, just seem to be a sin— They only want these modern ranching times and not those way back when. We know the world has changed a lot and all our freedoms have a cost— It seems liberties’ now another word that comes each year with frost, As mournfully we gaze on sunsets and dream back on all we’ve lost. So hoist another cup of Joe and raise your drink for one last toast— Like phantom bison and wild horses, our free ways give up the ghost And sadly we lean back in saddles and lose the thing we love most. In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change— In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange, How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range.