Under the Desert Moon (Terlingua Trilogy, Pt. 2)

Midnight in the campground at the Terlingua Chili Cookoff.

As we dance under the desert moon,
The wolves and the coyotes are howling in tune.
The armadillos are all arm-in-arm,
And the snakes and the scorpions mean us no harm.
As we twirl under the desert sky,
The crickets are chirping a sweet lullaby.
The campfire’s casting its smokey perfume,
Under the desert moon.

The fiddler’s got a faraway look in his eyes.
He’s dreaming of dances with ladies gone by.
The guitar strums softly while Jimmy Lee croons,
Under the desert moon.

Far from the glare of the city lights,
There isn’t a street or a building in sight,
Except for the shell of the old trading post,
That sits on the hilltop, as still as a ghost.
And you’re as rare as a desert flower,
As we spin through the seconds and minutes and hours,
And love is a cactus in April in bloom,
Under the desert moon.
Under the desert moon.

Words and music © 1993 by Steve Brooks and Frog Records
(512) 440-7668
[email protected]
www.stevebrooks.net

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