BORDER RADIO
The desert moon is risin' as the road ahead unwinds,
it's bigger than Terlingua now, but it's shrinkin' as it climbs.
Out here tonight the satellite brings music to my ears,
I don't have far to travel now, maybe just a few light years,
so I turn off the radio and drift into a dream
where I can hear the white noise from which all music springs.
Did I just get a cell phone call from Marilyn Monroe,
or was it just a song I heard on border radio?
From the great Chinati Mountains to the bend of The Rio Grande,
lights of unknown origin rise and dance above the sand.
The night's a two-lane lullaby, the highway, my companion;
it rumbles like a bodhrán down inside Boquillas Canyon.
From the bright lights and big cities to the tune in Dan's café,
I don't know where I'm goin', so I never lose my way.
Were those the words of Jesus Christ or David Allan Coe,
or was it just a song I heard on border radio?
The Wolfman of Del Rio is no longer on the air,
and these days you just have to wonder what's goin' on out there.
Good poetry is everywhere, good songs are all around;
yeah, sometimes all you gotta do's reach out and pull one down.
Music's not a choice I made, but man, it's what I do;
how I wound up on this journey, I have not a clue.
But I got drunk with Hondo Crouch and Edgar Allan Poe,
or was it just a song I heard on border radio?