Been a long time comin’
I hear it on the tracks
Slow train windin’
Breathing down my back
Put my thumb out hopin’ for a ride
Not looking back now
At those endless railroad ties
Still ignoring the signs
Spend all day running
You know I will and can
The train might be coming
But I’ll try to make a stand
Not backing down or getting off my feet
Go ahead and push me
Try to make me less complete
A useless irony
So soon it passes or was that just a dream
Am I ridin’ solo or the ghost I used to be
It’s hard to tell when you’re running just to run
Going somewhere, hoping for someone
Still moving down the road
Yellow lines are gone
I hear the whistle blow
And know it won’t be long
Spend all day running
You know I will and can
The train might be coming
But I’ll try to make a stand
Not backing down or getting off my feet
Go ahead and push me
Try to make me less complete
A useless irony
Howdy pardners!* It’s country western song day here at PROMPTuesday! Write me some lonesome lyrics that would make a bull’s balls swell.
Please post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.
First time to PROMPTuesday? Read a bit about it here.
Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.
*Bona fide country songwriters hate me right now.
Rye whiskey
Sloshes on the bar
He’s had too much, maybe
Imploding like a star
His eyes are dim, hazy
He chews on a cigar
And wonders
How’s he get that girl out of his head?
Cryin’ ain’t no use and workin hard just makes him sore.
Quiet Sunday evenin’s, well they make him miss her more.
Poker night at Johnny’s house? Aw hell, that guy’s a bore.
He’d rather be here passed out on the floor.
Lost weekend
Beneath a prairie moon
She makes him laugh, again
Singin’ some old tune
About a gal cheatin’
Who knew it would come true?
He wonders
How’s he get that girl out of his head?
Cryin’ ain’t no use . . . etc.
Days, ranchin’
Chasin’ after
And every night, drinkin’
Whiskey chased with beer
He still can’t stop thinkin’
She’s gonna reappear.
He’s never
Gonna get that girl out of his head.
Cryin’ ain’t no use . . . etc.
May as well stay here passed out on the floor.
How can you expect anyone to compete with “make a bull’s balls sweat”?
I wish I could tap my inner cowgirl, but she sounds too much like that annoying Shania Twain.
By the way. I just noticed. The line “Chasin’ after” was SUPPOSED to read “Chasin’ after steer”.
I came hoping for a prompt wherein I could speak of my melancholia in rhyme.
I. Swear. To. God. That’s. True.
Thank you.
ILY. AAL.
starting point: panic and mechanic rhyme with satanic.