The Singing Range
Gently moves the melody of the range,
Lost in an ambrotype that does not change.
Each twist of the trail still brings us all here
Never to leave now but always to fear
No god of our own making or dark dreams—
Earth-bound we ride toward Gomorrah it seems.
New range is waiting – it’s just up ahead—
Let’s spur on harder before we are dead.
Oh, the time for riding now is not long—
Every man sings, but few know the song.