There is a place where the wild things grow
where an old cowboy has built his home
where every mornigng (rain or shine)
work is done, cattle are fed, awe is inspired.
The cowboy labors his worn hands giving
life each day in this place God walks quietly
whispering secrets into a farmer's heart
secrets of living, secrets of life.
The cowboy works hard, and this work
(almost divine) makes the spirit whole
my daddy dreams of the place where you can smell rain before it falls
and you can watch corn grow from atop a buckskin mare.
A place where the wild things grow
and a man can build his own heaven.
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