Thursday, October 13, 2016

Three Thirty in the Morning

Three Thirty in the morning
Not a soul in sight
The pasture's looking like a ghost town
On a Moonless fall night
Phone call on my cell phone
There's a problem out there
There eating neighbors flower fields 
Where they never should have been
And the cattle roam
And the cattle roam

Every Flashlights roamin
In a flower field not mine
They rush out to herd them 
Thankful their alive
But those damn cows just 
Run and play 
Throwing flowers all around
And the butcher's called
And the butcher's called

Some how Garth Brooks song keep going through my head while we were in the pasture.  I hope he doesn't mind me butchering his wonderful lyrics with my own.

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