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Max Stalling
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Time's Hand in Your Pocket
It's the sag in the timbers of and abandoned line shack
The conspicuous hump of a gray woman's back
It's the weeds in the rails of the Burlington track
It's the knowing that yesterday can never come back
Like a windmill that's harnessed the breeze for years
Till the gusts and the rust have ruined it's gears
It's a faded out map from when the steel rails still shown
It's a well worn old riding horse that some kid's outgrown
It's time's hand in your pocket taking all that you own
It's the Frio Town courthouse left to stand all alone
It's the age of the cowboy when there's no old west left
Where we go from here boys is anyone's guess I guess
It's a whore's realization that her beauty will spoil
It's a wildcatter's nightmare that there is no more oil
It's the hills and the parries dissected with roads
It's the future, the damned future, and it's and ill wind that
bodes
It's time's hand in your pocket taking all that you own
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The gambler's tired eyes when his last card is thrown
It's the age of the cowboy when there's no old west left
Where we go from here boys is anyone's guess I guess
instrumental
The old mountain man has seen his last first snow
The dried up old poet he knows his last rhyme has flowed
I don't believe things live just to die
But I just don't think I'll ever understand why
It's time's hand in your pocket taking all that you own
Like the wave robs the shoreline and wind carves the stone
It's the age of the cowboy when there's no old west left
Where we go from here boys
Where the hell are we now boys
Wha'll we do now boys is anyone's guess I guess
I'd sure hate to guess.
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