Oh tell me of days gone by
Tho' alone you still wind your way?
Are the ghostly horsemen riding,
As they speed eastern mail?
It's up to you see them through Gunsmoke trail.
The Gunsmoke has now faded from the blazing forty-fours!
The stage coach is rustin' on the hill
The wagon wheels you used to feel, will sing their song no more!
The sound of the caravan is still!
No trav'ler to care where you go,
Sands of time are hidin' your way!
Bet if heaven ever let you
You could tell a rugged tale!
That's why I hate to see you fade.