Michael Allen Ott: Music

• MP3 short clip, hi-fi play (broadband)
• MP3 short clip, lo-fi play (modem)

I sang with a lonesome coyote
as he howled at the sky.
I've drifted like a tumbleweed,
couldnt tell you why.
I taught a sad old whiporwhill
a song he didn't know.
I guess a cowboy's born
with a lonesome soul.

A cowboy soul
there aint no cure.
Why are we sad?
We aint sure.
Why do we roam?
We'll never know.
Every cowboy's got
a lonesome soul.

I carried a bleeding heartache
clear across the great divide.
I filled up the Pecos
with the teardrops that
i cried.
I rode a trail of sorrows
all the way to Mexico.
Tryin' to out run this
lonesome soul.

A cowboy soul
there aint no cure.
Why are we sad?
We aint sure.
Why do we roam?
We'll never know.
Every cowboy's got
a lonesome soul.