New Frontier II

They say this is the new age--they call it civilization;
Which simply means there ain't a free spot left in this great nation;
Towering buildings jut up high, dirty, gray, and tall,
The sight of this new age sickens me as I gaze upon it all.

Rockets, bombs, computers--they call it all technology;
It's left me in a world of hurt--for all I know's "cow-ology."
Them rockets flew so far away one landed on the moon,
A place I thought God had reserved for lovers to watch while they croon.

There's highways wider than a town, they tell me they're called freeways;
Folks drive on em every day, but for me there's only three ways;
One is if I'm dead and gone and ridin' in a hearse;
Another's when I'm headin' west, 'cause the east is gettin' worse.

The last way you will find me there, I must admit it now,
Is when I'm chasm' after some stupid fence-jumpin' cow.
But I'd just as soon they broke 'em up and put 'em back in dirt;
I cried when I saw Fifteen come through--it made my spirit hurt.

There's a couple other words I've heard: one's improvement and one's progress;
But I'm a cowboy, and when I look on this all I see is one big mess;
Improvement conquered the Rockies, the Sierras, and Death Valley;
And by the time us sane folk knew, the time had passed to rally.

Where did this all start, I wonder? Was it with old Henry Ford?
He made a metal monster prob'ly cursed even by the Lord;
They replaced them wagons and buggies folks used to hitch to horses,
With sheets of unwieldy, hateful steel, drawn by inner forces.

There's no place on my sacred land, where if you glance back east
You won't look upon a freeway and see some smoking beast;
They're even goin' offroad, tramplin' stream and brush,
Goin' somewhere they don't know, but goin' in a rush.

The trails ofjeeps and motorbikes cut 'cross the hill and dale now,
Where years ago you'd only see a mule deer or a cow;
There was a time, upon this land, there roamed the grizzly and bighom sheep;
The eagle made his nest up in the crags, but forever they're asleep.
I guess first the mighty Indian and the mountain man saw their end,
When from the east the roads of ten thousand seftlers began to wend;
That's been over a hundred years, and Jim Bridger now lies dead;
He never knew this civilization would be drivin' o'er his head.

Then in came the cowboy, the survivor who couldn't die;
But settlers came and pretty soon death was glarin' in his eye;
I guess that its ironic, the Indian looked over his nation,
And when the cowboy's hold was strong, he called that civilization.

Anyway, the time of the cowboy, it done come and went;
It made a lot of punchers die, when they saw their freedom spent;
The thirties came and then the forties, fifties, and the sixties;
And we got a bunch of crazy folk who're thinkin' its just nifty

To see a man land on the moon, to brave the last frontier;
But for me it clutched my guts and filled my stomach full of fear;
For now I guess there ain't but one place that is safe--
And that's Heaven, where most these modern folk couldn't show their face.

Yes, they call this civilization, and let 'em call it what they will;
But they killed the land and couldn't leave one damn thing standin' still;
I'm sittin' in a city--Lord, tell me why I'm here;
Take me on to Heaven--they can keep their new frontier.

Dedicated to my daddy and the outdoorsmen of his generation and those before:

The men of the "Old Frontier"

 

--Kirby Jonas April 13, 1995