The bald eagle looked down upon the wired, concrete walls below,

And he wrapped his wings 'round him

And he fell like a stone

Toward some broad stream adjacent to a prison.

And the fated salmon fought, but eight talons held true -

And the strong fish shuddered as the world turned

From silver to blue.

The imprisoned man stood there in awe, though he'd seen it years before.

He was born in America;

He'd die here for sure.

They'd brought him from cell block to cell block, he'd seen the red and blue lights,

But nothing that shined like the Western sky at night.

In chained dreams, there's a horse,

He stands eighteen hands high,

And he's as white as the mountain snow, and there's fire and gunsmoke in his eyes.

And he'll bare onto men with shackled souls, though a system has tried,

And together the dead sinner and stallion will travel up across Freedom's skies.

Some mornings will find me up above the rusted bunk-line,

Lonesome don't seem like much once you're this tired!

When it's all said and done, I usually find -

That great eagle and the blue-eyed convict - they are of the same wise thought and mind!