A broken, battered gate barely keeps the cows in and the humans out. Straddling fences is a cowboy skill; living on the borders, existing in the in-between, dwelling on the blurry lines – cowboys know how to navigate the messy spaces that most people avoid. Humans want the world to be organized and structured – we make sense of our place in it based on a certain order. Whether these areas are arbitrary doesn’t matter; order is order, whether natural or not. We make it all up as we go along anyway.
I call you, to see you again
So I can win, and this can finally end
Spend an hour on my makeup
To prove something
Walk up in my high heels
All high and mighty
And you say, “Hello”
And I lose
‘Cause nobody butters me up like you, and nobody fucks me like me
For those who dwell on the edge, for those who live on the fringe, the idea of order is silly at best, crippling at worst, and rarely a helpful method of moving through life. Nature has its own order, and there’s enough of it to not need much more. A cowboy gets this. A cowboy understands. A cowboy knows that when you try to put human messiness into a fenced-in pen, only ruin can result. Without the freedom to roam, we walk in our own piss and shit, trapped with our excrement, reduced to the animals that maybe we will only ever be. Being lonely is just another term for being trapped. Finding freedom is a cowboy’s way of avoiding a lonesome sort of love.
In the morning, in a taxi
I’m so very paying for-
Why am I lonely for lonesome love?
Why am I lonely for lonesome love?
Why am I lonely?
