We settled down in the dirt,
Laid our troubles out.
Nothing else around, here in the Great Wide.
Aint no place to hide, under an open sky
All we left behind….cities on fire….
Silver trailers shining, out to the four horizons,
You sit and stare in silence, into the empty miles,
Anger in your eyes….cities on fire…
The space between us, oh so great and wide….

Our kitchen table now
Is like a battleground.
Our words are ghosts, rising
From the wounded and the dying.
You and I had life once, just like these old plains,
Nothing can stay the same.

I look out my window, and I know
This is where the wild herds used to roam.
People rode high once,
And free as the wind blows,
In the days of the buffalo.

Empty space in the way I feel,
Nothing seems as real
As these great stone fields in dust,
They remind us
Of the hard place inside us
That was formed in the wake of broken trust.
These things we do not name
We push unspoken blame
Into the vast expanse
The vivid distance…
And bodies bare, we try
To turn the spark to flame,
But the space between us now,
Full of the cold rain.

Life in this lonely house
Is like a battle ground,
After the war has passed by, and the blood has long been dried,
And flesh has turned to dust, upon these old plains,
And each ghost remains.

And in the wavering heat of the sun
Sometimes I see the wild mustangs run...
But then they disappear
In fields of bleaching bones
Left from the days of the buffalo.

Empty space in the way I feel
I dream a history,
It passes before me…
I see children born in open sun,
And a warm rain fills the canyons….
And then I open my eyes
And try to hold it, before it dies.
And you rise from the edge of our cold bed
And nothing more is said.

We cannot help
But to silently yearn
For what is lost
To return.
The sand will rise and bury all
And no one will know
About the days of the buffalo.