November 27, 2010

Campfire Sittin'

campfire sittin', it's about
5 degrees
the dirty devil desert, thanksgiving eve

sunset was sure purdy, o'er Henry's Range
moon's comin' up from over the Maze

i could be with the family, eatin' till it hurts
but i'd rather just sit out here in the dirt

stoke the little fire, it smokes in my face
coyote he calls, a purple distance away

he howls at the moon, I smile and know
coyote is friend, and not my foe

alone, but not lonely, out here in the cold
contemplate life with the help of some gold

golden and strong, bitter and sweet
bourbon by a campfire, sure's a nice treat.

i move close to the fire, cold is the night
fingers won't hold the pen that won't write.

I think of my gal, I hope this one works out
I've had a few tries, that she looks past with no doubts

a sleeping pad made by paco, and a zero degree bag
that i'll climb inside when the fire does die.

the light of the fire gives way to the night
the wide open of sky, it helps me sleep tight

the dark devil below, the bright stars are above
the piss ants are frozen, the whiskey does buzz

another season is done, i sleep on the rim
somehow it's worked out, season number ten

freeze my ass off, but no where i'd rather be
campfire sittin', on thanksgiving eve

No comments:

Post a Comment