Red sand clings to my worn leather boot
Deep in the soil where the cactus takes root
The asphalt is humming a low steady drone
Walking this valley and feeling alone
I pull out the bow and I tighten the string
Wait for the wind and the desert to sing
The resin is sticky the varnish is gold
Stories of highways that never grow old
Tracing the copper line out to the west
Giving my weary old spirit a rest
Long open stretches of salt and of stone
Playing a melody strictly my own
A rusted out Chevy rolls slow in the heat
Rhythm of tires on a shimmering street
He tosses a nickel he gives me a nod
Under the gaze of a wide open god
Tracing the copper line out to the west
Giving my weary old spirit a rest
Long open stretches of salt and of stone
Playing a melody strictly my own
I remember the pews and the candlelight glow
The hymns of the fathers that I used to know
Now the horizon is all that I see
The wide open prairie is setting me free
The sun dips its head in a purple blue haze
Counting the miles in a shimmering daze
My fingers are calloused my shoulder is sore
But I keep on walking and looking for more
The sagebrush is silver the air turning cold
The map in my pocket is yellow and old
One last long cadence before the night falls
Hearing the distance as the wilderness calls
Tracing the copper line out to the west
Giving my weary old spirit a rest
Long open stretches of salt and of stone
Playing a melody strictly my own
Copper Line.
Just the copper line.
Rolling home.
