lonesome

A lonesome cowboy rides a lonesome trail Out on the prairie he don't get no mail At night he listens to the cold winds wail A lonesome cowboy rides a lonesome trail A lonesome cowboy likes to fuss and fight When he gets to town on Saturday night A sweet little filly would make everything right But he only gets to fuss and fight A lonesome cowboy puts his foot on the rail And drinks whiskey as raw as an old rusty nail He's got sparks in his brain and a burr in his tail That poor lonesome cowboy with his foot on the rail The lonesome cowboy, he ain't got a friend He rides down the trail till it comes to an end In death's yawning doorway, no message to send That old lonesome cowboy, who hasn't a friend Say, who will remember the cowboy's last ride Not the trail boss, or bartender, fit to be tied Not the cook with his wagon, or the dude with his bride That poor lonesome cowboy, who has nothing to hide One tree on the skyline, the trail turns to sand The pistol and lariat fall from his hand On the breeze there's a song, though there ain't no brass band At sunset's last ribbon, when the trail turns to sand

this was printed in skylark, a little magazine from quebec, around 1991