Out where the prairie meets the stone… Where the old trails wander on… Buzern listens. From Texas plains where the night winds sigh, An owl with a woman’s eyes drifts by. La Lechuza circles the old ranch lights, While coyotes sing to the open night. Through Oklahoma, where creek beds wind, Old stories linger in the backwoods pines. Kansas fields beneath silver skies, Sinkhole Sam stirs where the dark lake lies. Every whisper, every name, Every legend keeps its flame. Buzern walks where the wild winds blow, Gathering tales that the old folks know. Oh, Buzern, the High Country Listener, Wandering beneath the stars, From the plains below to the mountain snow, Following old and forgotten trails. He carries the tales the night winds sing, The strange old songs that the wild hills bring. No fear in his heart, no need to roam fast, Just listening close as the legends pass. Nebraska waters hide something deep, A lake-born shadow that will not sleep. South Dakota’s Spirit Mound stands, Holding old stories older than lands. North Dakota’s river rolls dark and slow, With Miniwashitu in the tales below. Across the plains where the cold winds moan, Buzern listens, but never alone. Every whisper, every name, Every legend keeps its flame. Buzern walks where the wild winds blow, Gathering tales that the old folks know. Utah’s Bear Lake wears a midnight veil, A monster’s shadow in an old lake tale. Idaho’s mountains stand quiet and tall, Pine trees listening when the night birds call. In Arizona, the Mogollon roams, Through rugged forests far from homes. And high in Colorado, old lumberjacks told Of Slide-Rock Bolter on mountainsides cold. No saddle, no rider, no reins to hold, Just a dark horse wandering through stories untold. Past abandoned mines where the lanterns glow, Where Tommyknockers tap far below. Montana’s Flathead reflects the moon,
