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.
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