For my newly found muse:
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Texas Rose, where are your roots?
I need to hang up my guns
And take off my boots.
Rusted tin star, where do you hang?
Not on my vest
Since the cold evening came.
My spirit is broken, but where can I turn?
Itís for the Texas Rose
That my lonely heart yearns.
What good are my hands, if the load they canít bear?
The weight of her love brushed
Through her long chestnut hair.
Signatures are lame. Oops!