Trek One




Footprint One


Every cloud

is

a church

   in this sky ~


Every drop of

rain

an angel

   dropping by ~


The sun

is an Apache

on

    a vengeful path ~


A devil who turns

my bunk

into a

   sauna bath ~


So the Lord

deem'th

I move into

   the pilot house ~


Perched atop this

tug boat

that

    like a dead mouse ~


Lay

half buried

in

   the sand ~


The sea seems so

far

away

from this land!


Now

I

sit

   writing ~


A view

so vast

it's

frightening!


Yes

I

sit

   writing ~


Day

after

day

   fighting ~


The Devil

in

my

   mind ~


Meantime seeking

thee Almighty

who

   doth shine ~


Shine

more aflame

than

   the sun ~


For

  ever-

y

   one...




Footprint Two


It

was

a

   gamble ~


When

I

done

   amble ~


In-

to

the

   desert town ~


I

knew

nobody

   around ~


Just more

dust

adrift

   in the wind ~


I

come

blowing

   in ~


Thru the door of

the mission

the mission

   of No Return ~


A few tramps sat

out front

while

   the world done turn ~


Tramps from everywhere

wishing

they

   were high ~


Sitting

watching them

trains

   roll by...


A hundred tramps

out front

brain dead and

   lazy ~


One or two

were sane

but all the rest

   were crazy ~


Stood around

throwing

cigarette butts

   into the wind ~


All complaining about

the world

coming

   to an end...


One million tramps

surrounded

the mission of

   No Return ~


All one million

stranded

with no money

   to burn ~


Their campfires

one million

points

   of flickering light ~


As they broke their

empty bottles

on each others' heads

in the night!




Footprint Three


Now I

sit

in this

   old tug ~


There's nobody

here

for me to

   hug ~


Which

brings

to

   mind ~


What

I

did

   find ~


At that mission

at which

I

   done learn ~


There are pretty women

too

of

   No Return ~


For whom a tramp's

heart

do

   forever yearn ~


For whom his

loins

  natch-

   rally burn ~


I

 re-

  mem-

  ber!


The

first

time

   I saw her ~


Her long dark

hair

tied in

   an Indian braid ~


She seemed

so

 un-

   afraid ~


That

hot

 after-

   noon ~


It must

have

been

 high holy noon!


I was standing

in front

of

   the mission ~


Sinking

in-

to

   submission ~


When I saw

her in the distance

walk

   into the trees ~


A glimpse that

just about

knocked

   me to my knees ~


A sight

that

made music

   in my mind ~


The kind

you

might

   find ~


In

an

old western

   movie ~


Yes

she

really

   moved me ~


Moved me

like

a

   wrecking bar ~


Her

name

was

   Morning Star...




Footprint Four


If you walk

way up

hiiiiiiigh

   on the mountain ~


And it's the

riiiiiiight

time

   of year ~


You just might find

that

therrrrrrre

   abodes ~


Around your crunching

boots

a million

baby horned toads!




Footprint Five


Davy

Davyyyyyyy

Crock-

ett!


King

of

the

   wild frontier ~


He was such

a beautiful man

that

   a legend was born ~


Born outta

politics

due to a bill about

   land reform ~


Yeap, the frontier

man

become a congress

   man ~


Who

wanted some poor folks

who toiled

   upon some frontier land ~


To not be forced outta

their homes

they themselves

   done build ~


And

he

wouldn't

   yield ~


He was

a

poor man

   too ~


Killed about

one thousand bears

for rugs and food

   its true ~


Would-

n't

you

?


Slashed 'em

with his knife

when he wrestled

   one or two ~


Anyway, he wrestled

and wrestled with

his cherished

   land reform bill ~


Which he never

got passed

there

   on Capital Hill ~


So he rode off

to

the

   Alamo ~


Where

we

all

   know ~


He got

 him-

self

   shot dead ~


Where a bigger

legend

that already lived

   was bred ~


And

he

had

    a sonnnnnnn ! ! !


Son of a

son of a

son of a

   gunnnnnnn ~


And 'though

the battle

at thee Alamo was

   not wonnnnnnn ~


Davy Junior got

the bill passed

12 cents an acre

     for everyonnnnnnne ! ! !




 

Top Hat:   Rena, la magnificentia...                  Stirrup:   Enoch writing his memoirs...


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