The crisp wind in my hair,
The thrust below me,
Nothing dare compair
You appear to disagree
I cannot assure nor prove to you,
The imensenes that I feel
It must be true,
That this I love,
More than you
Midnight Rodeo, it may be
But I am fond
Filled with such glee
Thankful, so grateful, of this bond,
That bithely keeps me here,
Keeps me eminecely proud
Nothing other was ever so clear
As the dust cloud
That becomes, at the Midnight Rodeo






 
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