i sat there some weeks beforenyou walked up those steps and through the doornand it's a hell of a thingnto be consideringnnif i had my bendin' bownmy string and my arrownthere wouldn't be a thingnbetween you and my meaningnni'll remember your quiet waynrevisit it one quiet daynthe tug and pull of younjust might see me throughnnlay your hand in minenremember what you promised we would findni'll take you to where the green grasses grownto a place where that we could gonnthat's where we belongnwhere the trails meet the linesnout among the gusty windsnand the ponderosa pinesnnin the hallowed halls and circling hillsna man will do what he willsnscratch those words right off your slatenyou've had the time to recuperate