Here in this forest of tall steel and concrete,
millions of people searching survival,
breathing the air of furnace and motor,
a glimpse of the sky.
That's not the picture that I was presented when I was a young boy,
dreaming my future, I saw the Lone Ranger,
Tonto and Silver,
fighting for justice.
Here am I in this morning traffic,
it's all banked up and radios blaring,
my thoughts drift off to the days of a cowboy alone on the prairie.
Part of my childhood that I must remember,
this good over evil,
history's formation,
the soul of a nation,
bound up in salvation,
what happened on the way.
Mississippi cotton fields,
all of those black folks,
working so hard for plantation money,
Robert Johnson took his freedom,
hellhounds highway.
Here am I in this morning traffic,
it's all banked up and radios blaring,
my thoughts drift off to the days of a cowboy alone on the prairie.
All of the wars,
all fought for just cause,
for God and conceptions,
change without notice
and persecution,
that each generation continues on its way.
I wonder each time I read of the Holocaust,
fields of Cambodia,
genocides, atlas,
aboriginal disintegration,
where was the Lone Ranger?
Here am I in this morning traffic,
it's all banked up and radios blaring,
my thoughts drift off to the days of a cowboy alone on the prairie.
Here am I in this morning traffic,
it's all banked up and radios blaring,
my thoughts drift off to the days of a cowboy alone on the prairie.