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Too old to wrangle or ride on the swing,You beat the triangle and you curse everything.If dirt was a kingdom, they you'd be the king.On the Goodnight Trail, on the Loving Trail,Our Old Woman's lonesome tonight.Your French harp blows like the low bawling calf.It's a wonder the wind don't tear off your skin.Get in there and blow out the light.With your snake oil and herbs and your liniments, too,You can do anything that a doctor can do,Except find a cure for your own god damned stewCHORUSThe campfire's gone out and the coffee's all gone,The boys are all up and they're raising the dawn.You're still sitting there, lost in a song.CHORUSI know that some day I'll be just the same,Wearing an apron instead of a name.There's nothing can change it, there's no one to blameFor the desert's a book writ in lizards and sage,Easy to look like an old torn out page,Faded and cracked with the colors of age.CHORUS Aus Songtexte Mania