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76
Slabs of the Sunburnt West
Good night; on the big sky blanket over the
Santa Fe trail it is woven in the oldest
Indian blanket songs.
Buffers of land, breakers of sea, say it and
say it, over and over, good night, good night.
Tie your hat to the saddle
and ride, ride, ride, O Rider.
Lay your rails and wires
and ride, ride, ride, Rider.
The worn tired stars say
you shall die early and die dirty.
The clean cold stars say
you shall die late and die clean.
The runaway stars say
you shall never die at all,
never at all.
