Out in the state of
West
Texas
Old cowboys, they all gathered round
A family of friends from all over
To spread his ashes around
In the stirrups,
his boots were tied backwards
Bill led his horse up the trail
He had to be there,
he was cast in the air
I'll remember the rest of my days
Way out in that desert terrain
They scattered his ashes on the plains
On that painted plateau we had to let go
Of a man we were all glad to know
Cowboy
Frankie played fiddle
He had a great tear in his eye
Our friend he had gone,
but he picked his own home
A good place to rest when he died
Now he's just dust in the wind
He'd been every place that I've been
In spite of injustice he
always stood tall
He'd a done it all over again
He was not a man of great fortune,
Born of a mixture in race.
French and
Indian,
Irish and black,
He was slighted by all in disgrace.
As a playwright, this friend
Addressed the troubles of men.
He won a great prize of his day.
But his true friends were always
the cowboys.
Heard nothing from them
but their praise
The song that was sung was
one of farewell
Goodbye to the friend we'd known well
A great man had died in
West
Texas
Gone to heaven from a life lived in hell
The cowboy's lament to his spirit
So moved me I could not speak a word
Dust in the wind is
what he became
I'll never forget what I heard
Now it's just dust and the wind
Weeping every place that I've been
In spite of injustice,
he always stood tall
He'd have done it all over
again
You
You