Skies of Gallatin Man © R. Leschen (31 May 2007)

At the end of a US highway a trail begins to thin,

Twisted winds and ruby rainbows rip the desert clean,

From the dust comes a ragged cowboy who shook his shirt to the wind,

A silver heart and lips like leather he was passing through Gallatin,

And I wondered where he had been.

He used to be an east coast trader hustling ‘round the town,

By candlelight he shuffled paper his mind mostly in the ground,

With a gaze fixed on freedom he swapped his suit for a vest

Kicking off his velvet slippers, he made his way out west,

Was off like the Pony Express.

“Why” I asked, “you rode along to this land of the sulfide air?”

Without words he pointed eastward, was a pain to deep to share,

Then he flipped back his yellow hair.

Nine parts coffee and one part cream I believe in the cowboy dream,

Ely works the station kitchen ensconced in liberty,

Here I sit at Cinder Mountain while the lads are out rolling hay,

The grass is green the horses lean you can hang your hat on the wind,

‘Neath the skies of Gallatin (3x).