The Prairie In Your Head

Your horse is just a rockin’ chair And now you feel half dead— But you have your ol’ memories Of the prairie in your head. You drink your Joe by the furnace And dream of those campfires— Your saddle a well-worn cushion— Your hip held in place by wires. The brand you ride for’s a rest home— They bring chuck on white trays— You use a wood cane for walkin’ As your mind recalls those days. Your gun’s just a TV remote— It can bring you respect— Your hat’s a sweaty baseball cap, That the nurses disinfect. You’ll wait for the foreman to come— There won’t be much that’s said— Then you’ll just go out a ridin’ On the prairie in your head.