Daydream: 1875
My daydreams are filled with wanderlust
Guns and brothels and cowboy stuff
Of being a farmhand I’ve had enough
I’ll ride to Armageddon don’t call my bluff
Or you’ll lie dead before me –I wish
This was my way of life, stuck here adoring I sit
And I wait for the days when rain and cattle
Aren’t my main concern I long to strike like snakes which rattle
Oh, how their venom burns and their blood is so cold
Matching their uncaring demeanor, I want to be an outlaw so bold
That not a single Cowboy can possibly be called meaner
Pa says at my age he wanted to be a preacher, Ma a singer
Pa says dreams need to be washed away so my soul will be cleaner
The angel of death is calling me to the prairie I know that I’ve seen her
This isn’t the delusions of a dreamer I know that my heart will be hardened
By heat and ill visuals, still life will be simpler, and fortune gentle, kill the varmint
Say a pardon, break your bread don’t regret the broken and forgone eggs
Needed to make your Omelet I won’t cry over the ones dead
Or left in the desert dying when I attack the various stagecoaches and trains
I’ve been eying. Expressed these feelings to Pa he says he hopes I’m lying
He tried to steer me in the right direction until I left him and Ma crying
For me to stay, neither would listen to reason or move out of my way
And now their dead carcasses lay in the fields amidst bundles of hay
My daydreams come to strike reality on its unready and virgin face
I don’t look back in regret as I smell the smoke from our barns fire and leave this place
A Cowboy