Another old song, although not as old as More Than Meets the Eye. I wrote it shortly after I moved to Seattle from the Midwest–I figured every songwriter needs to write a cowboy song, especially if they move out West. However, I only wrote the bridge to it a couple of years ago–until then it was just the three verses (laziness is a terrible thing…). And then last winter I made a couple
of lyric changes in the second verse. The idea to finish it with the harmonica playing Home On the Range was there from the beginning. I remember going to a bookstore near where I lived to look it up and see if it was in the public domain. Some people give me a hard time about it, but I think it’s a pretty good fit with the rest of the song.

The arrangement slowly evolved to the one on the album. I recorded most of the tracks in the summer of 2003, and was pretty pleased with it. Believe it or not, I didn’t get the idea about adding a pedal steel until months later–but I’m really glad I did. I think it takes the song to a whole new level, and Bob’s playing is impeccable. In one of those magical musical connections, we found out
when he came over to my house to record (we’d never met before) that we both grew up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and that we knew some of the same people. Once we established that connection, it seemed as if the recording session was  preordained.

The mountains are risin’ upon the horizon
The prairie’s as big as the sky
Cowboy comes ridin’ with the songs he’s been hiding behind

He’s thinkin’ and wonderin’ why

He keeps his feet in the stirrups and his eyes on the sky
Keeps movin’–don’t matter how slow
His dreams are the only things that he can  believe in
The way that he feels is the way he must go

He’s got fences to mend–keeps his distance from friends
He hears the coyotes howlin’ at night
The audience cheers and the crowd buys him  beers
And his music it sparkles like the winter starlight

He keeps his feet in the stirrups and his eyes on the sky
Keeps movin’–don’t matter how slow
His dreams are the only things that he can believe in
The way that he feels is the way he must go

He’s a rambler but no renegade
With a songbook as his stock in trade

His trail keeps on turnin’ while the home fire’s burnin’
Thoughts of her dance in his head
But there’s nothin’ like bein’ alone on the stage
There’s nothing he’d rather be doing instead

He keeps his feet in the stirrups and his eyes on the sky
Keeps movin’–don’t matter how slow
His dreams are the only things that he can  believe in
The way that he feels is the way he must go