

Prompt / 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.
Tags
Gritty Americana, deep baritone vocal, fingerpicked Martin guitar, mournful pedal steel, raw, minimalist outlaw folk.
4:31
No
2/20/2026