Waylon Jennings

All the old stations, are being torn down.
And the high flyin' trains no longer roll.
The floors are all sagging,
With boards that are suffering,
from not being used anymore.
Things are all changing, the world's rearranging,
A time that will soon be no more...
Where has a slow moving, once quick draw outlaw, got
to go?
The whiskey that once settled the dust,
and tasted so fine,
Now tastes of pain.
And the memories it once blotted out,
come back stronger, more clearly with each drink you
take.
The women that warmed you, you once thought so pretty,
NOw look haggard and old.
Where has a slow moving, once quick draw outlaw, got
to go?
The land where I traveled, once fashioned with beauty,
now stands with scars on her face.
The wide open spaces, are closing in swiftly,
from the weight of the whole human race.
And its not that I blame them, for claiming her
bounty,
I just wish they'd taken it slow,
Where has a slow moving, once quick draw outlaw, got
to go?