Indians of long agonFollowed after buffalonThey found a use for every part nEverything except his heartnnI have wandered like those herds nLost in music, lost in wordsnBut the hunger leads me on nSeductive like a siren's songnnAnd I can put my ear right to the ground nJust to hear those motors humming nThe pounding sound of hoofbeats nLike a thousand guitars strumming nAnd there is music in all thisnIt is all materialnBefore the beauty melts like snow nChase the buffalonnPeople in these halls and bars nThey wish on me like I'm a star nBut I can never fill that hole nI am not their buffalonnAnd the gravity of the situation makes me start to fallnMy guitar like a fire alarm is ringing off the wallnAnd there is music in all thisnIt is all materialnBefore the beauty melts like snow nChase the buffalonnEast of Eden, west of the nightnThe sun lies bleeding in a dying light nAnd the lady in the Cheyenne moon nIs singing out her mournful tunennSo I chase the herds againnSmear the warpaint on my skinnRiding west with all my mightnWhere the sun is holding off the nightnnI cannot name this passionnDon't know where this stuff comes from nMaybe its a trail of tearsnOr just a trail of crumbsnBut there is music in all thisnIt is all materialnBefore the beauty melts like snow nChase the buffalo