We played and stomped the ground on the range we once roamed Squeezing music in and out made a wheezy moan Breezes teasing reedy grasses, weaving a tune Down-to-earth as cow pies on a June afternoon
Work and pray, live on hay, you’ll get pie in the sky when you die.
The whirling dervish going round on the inside track is thinking about breaking the record of revolutions per minute held by a mad holy roller on the outside track. He has another think coming.
“Every revolution was first a thought in one man’s mind.”
Tap image for browser view
