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Lyrics
(Verse 1)
The sun’s a copper penny, dropping down behind the breaks
And the shadows stretch like giants 'cross the surface of the lake
I’m gathering the deadwood, the cedar and the pine
To light a little altar for a different place and time
The air is getting heavy with the scent of coming frost
And I’m counting up the seasons and the brothers that I’ve lost.
(Chorus)
Oh, those campfire nights, beneath a canopy of stars
Before the world was fenced and bound by concrete and by cars
Just the crackle of the embers and the low and lonesome sound
Of a cowboy’s weary spirit finally hitting level ground
We’d watch the sparks go climbing till they joined the Milky Way
And we’d pray the morning sun was at least a thousand miles away.
(Verse 2)
I can see my father’s silhouette against the dancing red
With a tattered Stetson pulled down low across his silver head
He’d carve a piece of willow while he told a quiet tale
Of the blizzard of the eighty-eight and the long and dusty trail
The smoke would curl and heavy hung the scent of damp and pine
Keeping out the winter and the drawing of the line.
(Verse 3)
Now the boys have all gone drifting like the tumbleweed and grain
Some are chasing shadows, some are hid beneath the rain
And the ranch is sold to bankers, and the wire’s pulled too tight
But I still find a sanctuary in the flickering of light
I strike a single matchwood and I let the memory burn
For a simple kind of lesson that a man can’t help but unlearn.
(Bridge)
The iron pot is empty and the coffee’s turned to mud
But the rhythm of the river's still a-pulsing in my blood
I’ll wrap myself in canvas while the coyotes start their song
And tell myself the morning won't be coming for a long, long time.
(Chorus)
Oh, those campfire nights, beneath a canopy of stars
Before the world was fenced and bound by concrete and by cars
Just the crackle of the embers and the low and lonesome sound
Of a cowboy’s weary spirit finally hitting level ground
We’d watch the sparks go climbing till they joined the Milky Way
And we’d pray the morning sun was at least a thousand miles away.
Details
GeneratedFeb 20, 2026
Duration4:31
LanguageEnglish
Style
Gritty Americana, deep baritone vocal, fingerpicked Martin guitar, mournful pedal steel, raw, minimalist outlaw folk.
Credits
Prompt by
HamCheck
HamCheckModelAria v5
