The Death of the Cowboy

As I start to come down,

I start to wonder why,

Cowboys ride off in the sunset,

And never the sunrise;

For when my body's cold and sound,

And the cowboy's left this town,

And dirt will cover like a net,

Will his yielding pose no threat?

So to everyone I've met,

When its time for me to die,

Don't you waste me in the ground,

Bury me in the clear, blue sky.