Was on the day the cowboys were band from the range. Metal touched the world as a master. They rode their ponies down into cities of gold. To leave them forever after. Now the sun was swollen red and old. The earth it was windy dark and cold. Where the highway ends the desert takes it toll. So dusty red and angry. It was a time when men died out on the prairie. From not having a decent friend. At night the ghost to the mode of riders. Was a howlin' canyon winds. You can hear em' cryin'. Good God I think they're dyin'. When them rangers down in Dallas. Had all but all given' it up and left. And those that hung on hopin'. Was trying their best to to forget. The way those outlaws and desperados. Right from the cheapest to the best. Rode in on ponies made of skin and bones. Gave up their rusty guns and went back home. And the governor was sent down from population control. And Marshall law was passed. Riverboat gamblers put their money on faith. For the time for hope had passed. In the cold blue light of the desert night. There was a thousand starry ships. And men came down from still I don't know where. With death on their fingertips. Now there's no more kings in Texas. I swear they rounded up each and every one. And old Atlanta Canastoga. Reached from the Rocky Mountains into the old dead sun. Now Anna Maria walks the plains alone. The last of a struggling people. She thinks of all those outlaws who wanted to reach for the skies. And got stuck up on the steeple. Oh you can hear them cryin'. Good god I think they're dying'. In the wind lord you can hear em' sigh.