The Roamer

Way out on a windswept desert
Where nature favors no man
A buffalo found his brother
At rest on the sunbaked sand
Now the buffalo said to his brother
"What sickness got you this way?"
But his brother never said
For his brother was dead
Been dead since a-way last May

Way out on a windswept desert
I heard a big Indian moan
And I left my tent
For I knew what it meant
And swore I'd never more roam
It was early in the morning
When I stopped running
My legs were tired and sore
I'd lost fifty pounds on the hot dеsert ground
And I'd lose that many more