The desert swims like a silver seaIn the light of a big full moonAnd strong and clear there comes to meThe lilt of the first guard's tune.Fire camp is burning bright,Cook’s got more wood than he needsWe’ll be telling some awful tales tonightOf races and big stampedes.I'm getting too old for that line of talk:The desperados they've known,Their wonderful methods of handling stockAnd, the fellows they have seen get thrownWhat's that I see walking fast?It's a horse that’s slipping through.He is trying to make it out through the pass:Come mighty near doin' it too.Get back there. What are you trying to do?You have no chance to bolt.Old boy, I was wrangling a bunch like youBefore you was even a colt.- From "The Old Night Hawk" by Bruce KiskaddonCowboy Poets trailerCowboy Poets in full from the amazing Folkstreams