From 500 feet above and if I was a morning doveSearching for a place to landI'd perch up on the turnpike, watch old stands and semisWonder where they're going and where they've beenAnd looking back down through the yearsBefore the hands of man were hereRusty shovels found black goldAnd tumbleweeds were free like the Choctaw and CherokeeBefore they had to call a slant their homeIf only they could see how it's goneNow it's red dirt tears and broken mirrorsAnd a little trailer parked just south of hereEnd of the world is getting there but I still feel the sameAnd it's red dirt more and wanting moreMr. Weatherman I can have my doorway dreams growDrying up like rainWelcome to the plainsAnd if I was a coyote running, stealing on the CimarronLooking for a place to cool my headFind shelter from the voices telling me my only choice isGet up, get gone, keep moving westIf I ever left, those eyes would fill up fastWith red dirt tears and broken mirrorsAnd a little trailer parked just south of hereEnd of the world is getting there but I still feel the sameAnd it's red dirt more and wanting moreMr. Weatherman I can have my doorway dreams growDrying up like rainWhere dreams grow, drying up like paintWelcome to the plainsWelcome to the plainsThe plains, the plains, the plainsNow it's red dirt tears and broken mirrorsAnd a little trailer parked just south of hereEnd of the world is getting there but I still feel the sameAnd it's red dirt more and wanting moreMr. Weatherman I can have my doorway dreams growDrying up like rainWhere dreams grow, drying up like paintWhere dreams grow, drying up like rainWelcome to the plainsWelcome to the plainsWelcome to the plainsOne, two, three, four!Welcome to the plainsWelcome to the plainsOne, two, three, four!