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High on a mountain in western Montana |
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A silhouette moves 'cross a cinnamon sky |
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Riding alone on a horse he called Music |
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With a song on his lips, and a tear in his eye |
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He dreams of a time, and a lady that loved him |
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And how he would sing her sweet lullabies |
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But we don't ever ask him |
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And he never talks about her |
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Guess it is better to just let it slide |
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But sang "ooh" to the ladies |
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And ooh, he made some sigh |
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Now he rides away on a horse he called Music |
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With a pain in his heart and a tear in his eye |
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He rode the Music from Boston to Bozeman |
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For not too much money, but way to much ride |
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But those were the days when a horse he called Music |
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Could jump through the moon and sail across the sky |
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Now all that's left is a time-old worn cowboy |
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With nothin' more than the sweet by-and-by |
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And trailing behind, is a horse with no rider |
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A horse he calls memories that she used to ride |
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And he sang "ooh" to the ladies |
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And ooh, he damn near made some fall right down and die |
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Now he rides away on a horse he called Music |
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With a pain in his heart and a tear in his eye |
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High on a mountain in western Montana |
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Two crosses cut, through a cinnamon sky |
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Marking the place where a horse he called Music |
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Lays with a cowboy in the sweet by-and-by... |
