OLD COYOTE TOWN
Bob McDill

He's got a US flag on the front porch to remind everyone where he lives.
Upstairs in the attic are papers that prove the old place is finally his.
After 45 years, the grass still won't grow on that rock-hard west Texas ground,
But my old dad still clings to his old coyote town.

    Like horses, the pickups are parked out in front
    Of a café that don't need a name,
    As old men rock and tumbleweeds roll
    Past the boarded-up windows on Main.

Waist-high weeds hide a "for-sale" sign, at the drive-in where my innocence died.
A rusty advertisement hangin' from a nail says, "Popcorn and Pepsi for a dime,"
And down at the depot, where I left for good, sits a hobo with his three-legged hound
Waitin' for a train that no longer comes to this old coyote town.

    And the interstate rumbles like a river of steel,
    To a rhythm that won't ever slow down,
    As cars and trucks and time pass by
    That old coyote town.

Daddy falls asleep in the living room, on the sofa, with the TV on.
Sometimes he waits for a call from me. Sometimes he waits too long,
But I still think of those people and that place that they love.
How much longer will they be around
Till it's "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," for their old coyote town?

Hard to believe this was a top country hit for Don Williams twenty years ago, one of several McDill songs that found their way through the sludge for a brief moment in time. I'm a long way from Texas and tumbleweeds, but that song tells the story of me, my birthplace, and my father as well as if I'd written it myself. It's ten years now since we had to bulldoze the house, and I still can't bear to drive up the lane, much less try to sing the song.