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Americana: acoustic folk, country, ballads, blues, swing

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HOME ON THE RANGE credits lyrics hi-res video

TRAVELOGUE credits lyrics

HOLLY (Lake Powell Lament) credits lyrics

GRAND CANYON credits lyrics

GONE ARE THE GRIZZLIES credits lyrics video



TALE OF TWO credits lyrics

OJO CALIENTE credits lyrics

AUGIE’S CABIN credits lyrics

MESA VERDE MAMA credits lyrics


To the memory of my mom Bonnie Jean Hoard and my dad Clarence Millard Stricklan;
To my first hero, Roy Rogers;
To visionary architect Mary Jane Colter;
To Colorado pioneer Vic Miller;
May they all rest in eternal peace and beauty.

By Lucky Boyd, MyTexasMusic
"Jim Stricklan has assembled an impressive list of pickers and created a fabulous collection of American West music on the “GRAND CANYON”. Stricklan pens songs in the vein of the Old West as his comfortable cowboy voice meanders aimlessly through cut after cut of campfire gold. There are a couple of great standards on the disc as well and an interesting arrangement of “Home On The Range.” Well-produced, this is a gem of an album with a Western and Native feel. Well Done."

Pete Smith's Rock Pile, Country Music Round Up, Britain
"His style is pure Texas, honky tonk, western swing, outlaw and beautiful ballads are there in equal meaure. His songs are both interesting and entertaining.. thoughtful songs as 'Gone Are The Grizzlies'... great songs like 'Holly'... Jim Stricklan is a more than satisfying country experience." (excerpts of Pete's comments)

Ray Benson, Asleep At the Wheel
"Having known Jim for 30 years or so, I'm not surpriesed he has recorded a CD that feels and sounds like the wide open spaces of the West. The CD also has the best play on words ("Holly would") of the year!"

The Pecos River runs through the tiny west Texas town where I was born.
The sprawling plains of the Edwards Plateau stretch out for hundreds of miles in every direction.
Mine is a heritage of purple sage and prickly pear, jackrabbit and horned toad;
Of longhorn and diamond back—eagle, hawk, and sandhill crane.
This great southwestern land where I was born and raised, is indeed,
my American home on the range.

At twenty-two, yearning for higher ground, I moved up to Denver.
The Rocky Mountains were my playground for the next 16 years.
Over the years, I climbed to the top of Guadalupe Peak and
hiked in the Grand Canyon of Arizona.
I camped in the Big Bend and body surfed in the Gulf of Mexico.
I soaked in the ancient mineral waters of Ojo Caliente and of Mt. Princeton.
I thrilled at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison and Utah’s Arches National Monument.

I have swum in the waters of the Rio Grande and Lake Powell,
And basked in the southern California sun at Huntington Beach.
I have climbed the mysterious Sand Dunes of the San Luis Valley,
to ponder the Sangre de Cristo Mountains beyond.
I have wandered in silence among old ghosts at St. Elmo and Tin Cup in the Colorado Collegiate range.
I have watched the sunset from Methodist Mountain and the full moon rise from the suspension bridge over Royal Gorge.

I have walked below the surface of the earth at Carlsbad, Sonora, Longhorn and Natural Bridge Caverns.
I have slept in the mountains and the desert, flown over canyons, oceans and vast mountain ranges.
I have ridden horses on the west Texas prairie and on the high Colorado plateaus.
I have fished for yellow cat in Texas rivers and red-eared perch in Oklahoma streams.
In summary, I have lived my life in the American West,
And tried to capture some of these wonderful experiences in the songs on this CD.

Last night my wife Leslie asked me to write something explaining the stories behind the songs on this album. The great traditional ballad Home on the Range takes me back to the beginning of my life on the west Texas prairie, singing the songs of Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and Stephen Foster. They were my earliest musical influences. It took me 50 years to evolve the swing arrangement of this song I’ve come to know and love so well. Bob Nolan’s Tumbling Tumbleweeds is another familiar tune I’ve always been partial to. I decided to leave out the eloquent spoken introduction, in favor of a more timeless, bluesy, autobiographical approach. My pal Larry Rothwell loaned me his excellent lament Colorado River Sandhill Crane—a true story that he experienced growing up in West Texas. Larry says it was the first song he ever wrote! I’ve been singing it for decades and rate it right up there with the other two classics in this collection.

The first time I saw the Rocky Mountains was a turning point in my life. I was 21 and knew instantly that I wanted to live in the Rocky Mountain West (at least for awhile), and so I did for 16 years. With the southwestern plains in my heart and the mountains in my soul, I naturally grew up to be a songwriter. I write and sing folk music and all that implies. After 30+ years of writing, playing, singing, arranging, recording, and publishing original songs, I’ve managed to latch onto a style that encompasses the varied musical and lyrical influences I’ve discovered while tumbling along in the weeds of the American West. The rest may be history, yet it’s no less a mystery.

In 1976, a most important year—America’s bi-centennial and Colorado’s centennial—I officially put the brand on Front Room Music. At the time I didn’t know if it would last three years, let alone thirty. I’d made several trips to visit my friend and radio mentor Don King, whose own dreams regarding the American West are truly remarkable. Don lived up in Poncha Springs at the time, near Salida, Colorado. On one of our adventures, we drove a Volkswagen Beetle up 12,000-foot Methodist Mountain and silently watched the sunset. Don told me that Old Mose, the last great Colorado Grizzly bear had been slain on the mountain back in the 1930s. In that moment of majestic wilderness, it seemed profoundly sad to contemplate the extinction of such a terrible, yet magnificent creature. It felt similar to watching King Kong go down in the old classic movie. One snowy afternoon, while visiting the Denver Museum of Natural History, I sat staring at the bronze statue of a female Grizzly and her cub. Suddenly, my bear muse appeared. I buttoned up my Navy pea coat, picked up my trusty Martin guitar and quickly wrote Gone Are the Grizzlies in honor of Colorado’s Centennial and to commemorate the late great (native) Colorado Grizzly bear.

The following year, soul brother & media ace John Ryland and I embarked on a southwestern sojourn. The idea was born in Aspen, although we started from Denver—with stops at Royal Gorge, Sand Dunes National Monument, Mesa Verde, Arches Monument, Grand Canyon, and eventually, Lake Powell. That trip was in June and it was really hot in the desert. We survived an arduous hike down Bright Angel Trail on the South Rim of Grand Canyon, before driving around to the high North Rim. By the time we arrived at Lake Powell we were fried…or about to be. The temperature was up in triple digits when we happened to meet four lovely young ladies who worked at the local marina. After a blessed sundown, they took us out on the desert floor where we talked and sang for hours. One of those young ladies was Holly—and I won’t soon forget her golden hair, pretty smile, and well-tanned body. The song (another lament) came a little later. (You can read John's view of this trip in his memoir How I Got the Hip Disc Jockey Blues.)

Travelogue was one of the tunes I wrote while living with Colorado pal Scott Maiers, with whom I’ve shared many wonderful mountain adventures. We were almost annihilated by a Moffett Tunnel train once, while stuck on the tracks in a blizzard (but that’s another story). Scott and I love truckin’ up to Missouri Falls, Mt. Princeton, Sand Dunes, Phantom Canyon, Cripple Creek, St. Elmo (a ghost town), Telluride, and other amazing places in the Rockies. An unforgettable moment in my hall of memories has us standing on the high suspension bridge over Royal Gorge one evening when the red ball sun was setting over the canyon on one side of the bridge, while a big, buttermilk moon was rising just opposite! Words alone cannot describe it; music is required.

Central to this story is the fact that I met my wife, Leslie Capek Stricklan, while dining at the legendary Buckhorn Exchange in Denver around 1985. The Buckhorn is a historic museum, steak house, and saloon. After we’d been dating awhile, Leslie took me to stay at an old log cabin very near the Royal Gorge, to go horseback riding. The main cabin and its smaller companion were both constructed by pioneer Vic Miller. Miller’s tragic story is told—in his own words—in a book inside the cabin. Leslie’s former boss August Perez (retired president of Perez Architects, a New Orleans firm with a Denver office at the time), who is quite a colorful character himself, owns the cabin. Leslie and I spent a magical snowy night in Augie’s Cabin. I wrote the song following our visit. At my request, a band called Quicksilver recorded it, as a surprise gift for Augie. I lost my copy of their recording long ago. Finally, the song has come back around, in tribute to Vic Miller…and to Augie.

Since moving back to my native Texas, where we’ve settled in South Austin, we’ve made several pleasurable visits to New Mexico and Colorado to visit friends and family. On one trip we stayed at a mountain ranch with Leslie’s sister Wendy, and then in a very unique private lodge owned by my friend Katy Bee. We also traveled to Mesa Verde, Durango, and Telluride, and spent some relaxing time in the hot mineral springs at Ojo Caliente. The euphoria of finding myself in those mystical environs inspired the songs Mesa Verde Mama and Ojo Caliente. On another trip we vacationed in Santa Fe before heading on to Castle Rock and Denver. We enjoyed a leisurely drive from Taos, down through the Cimarron Valley where a buffalo herd was grazing. A day or two later I woke up and drank coffee under the awesome view of Mt. Evans and Pike’s Peak—both visible from my friend Scott Maiers’ mountain home. Buffalo Along the Cimarron came pouring out of me. Mighty good coffee!

One lovely September day in our Austin home, Leslie and I began thinking about a companion for Kokopeli. We invented Kokobilly from a sketch I had made. The next logical step was a story song. Leslie wrote the beautiful words while I came up with a melody, and Tale of Two united the long lost desert twins: “Coyote sang, Saguaro swayed, as the mystic brothers played…”

Last, and possibly grandest of all, Grand Canyon resulted from a marvelous three-day stay on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon in October 2004. We were there with Leslie’s mom, Dorothy Capek, to celebrate her 75th birthday. It had been 27 years since my last trip. Luckily, I tagged along and really got to enjoy the canyon at a pleasing time of year. Our visit was among the best vacations we’ve experienced. Two weeks later—on a solo trip to Colorado—the melody and opening line of the song came to me as I crossed the Texas border into New Mexico. I was thinking of John Lennon for some reason and that opening line is a bit of a tribute to John. I finished the song that night in a New Mexico motel room and recorded it in the spring of 2005.

I’ve written many other songs about living and imagining in this spectacular American SouthWest landscape. However, these 12 songs seem to stand out and present their stories in a musical context that I think anyone can enjoy. So, relax and tune out the rest of the world for a few minutes, if you will, and travel with me… on a timeless journey through the great American West.

All songs were written by Jim Stricklan copyright 2005, except where noted otherwise.
Publisher: Front Room Music/BMI.

Jim Stricklan, Larry Rothwell, Maryann Price, Theresa Brunelle,
Leslie Stricklan, Ted Arbogast, Doug and Darlene Taylor,
Chuck Ditto, John Simons, Ernie Durawa, James Fenner,
George Coyne, Herb Steiner, Joey Colarusso, Alan Turley, Cara Cooke,
Gregg Lowery, JP Allin, Richard Bowden and Connie Gatlin.

HOME ON THE RANGE (traditional / arranged by Jim Stricklan):
Jim—lead vocal & Alvarez acoustic guitar; Maryann Price—scat vocal; Doug Taylor—bass; Ernie Durawa—drums; Chuck Ditto—piano.
Recorded at Parrot Tracks/Austin, TX with George Coyne.

Jim—lead vocal & Martin D-35 acoustic guitar; John Simons—bass; James Fenner—congas/percussion; Chuck Ditto—piano.
Recorded at Lonestar/Austin, TX with Jim Watts and overdubs at Parrot Trax/Austin, TX with George Coyne.

Jim—lead vocal & Martin D-35 acoustic guitar; Herb Steiner—steel guitar.
Recorded at Music Lane/Austin, TX with Ted Arbogast producing, Bill Munyon engineering.

Jim—lead vocal & Alvarez acoustic guitar; Doug Taylor—bass; Larry Rothwell—acoustic rhythm guitar; Chuck Ditto—accordion.
Recorded at Parrot Tracks/Austin, TX with George Coyne.

Jim—lead vocal & Martin D-35 acoustic guitar; Ted Arbogast—bass & electric guitar; Alan Turley—soprano sax; Theresa Brunelle—supporting vocal.
Recorded at Music Lane/Austin, TX with Ted Arbogast and Bill Munyon.

Jim—lead vocal, harmonica & Alvarez acoustic guitar; Leslie Capek Stricklan—supporting vocal.
Recorded at Front Room Music Studio/Austin, TX by Jim Stricklan.

Jim—lead vocal; Larry Rothwell—acoustic guitar & supporting vocals; Richard Bowden—fiddle; Scott Martin—bass.
Recorded at Parrot Tracks/Austin, TX with George Coyne. Used by permission.

TALE OF TWO (writers--Jim & Leslie Stricklan):
Jim & Leslie Stricklan—lead vocals; Jim—Washburn acoustic guitar; Doug Taylor—bass; Joey Colarusso—flute.
Recorded at Flashpoint/Austin, TX with Eastside Flash.

Jim—lead vocal & Washburn acoustic guitar; Doug Taylor—bass; Chuck Ditto—keyboards; Maryann Price, Leslie Stricklan, Darlene Taylor—supporting vocals.
Recorded at Flashpoint/Austin, TX with Eastside Flash.

Jim—lead vocal & Alvarez acoustic guitar; Doug Taylor—bass; Gregg Lowry—clawhammer banjo; George Coyne—dobro; Cara Cooke-harmonica.
Recorded at Parrot Tracks with George Coyne.

Jim—lead vocal & Martin D-35 acoustic guitar; JP Allin—harmonica.
Recorded at Lonestar/Austin, TX with Jim Watts.

TUMLING TUMBLEWEEDS (writer--Bob Nolan):
Jim—lead vocal & Alvarez acoustic guitar; Doug Taylor—upright bass & mandolin; Gregg Lowry—accordion; whistle – Connie Gatlin;
Recorded at Parrot Tracks/Austin, TX. Used by permission.

Audio Mastering:
Jerry Tubb at Terra Nova Digital Audio, Inc. Austin, Texas.

Graphic Design:
Design concept by Leslie Stricklan, who is an architect.
Design refinement and final production by Neely Ashmun, Scott Heron and Roberto Ssantellana of BAH! Design, Austin, Texas.

Photography: Leslie Stricklan, using Minolta Maxxum 3000i 45mm with Vivitar telephoto lens
Cover photo - Jim Stricklan at Yavapai Point, South Rim, Grand Canyon, overlooking the Inner Gorge intersection with Bright Angel Canyon mid-morning, October 12, 2004.
Back photo - Watchtower at Desert View, South Rim, Grand Canyon National Park, designed by Mary Jane Colter, the legendary architect of many structures at the park, who drew her inspiration from Native American art and became a significant contributor to the tradition of Southwest architectural design.
Inside cover - features Mimbres animal motifs taken from the Watchtower at Desert View, Grand Canyon National Park.
Tray card photo (by BAH!) - Navaho weaving depicting traditional sand painting figures. Stricklan collection.

Manufacturing: DiscMakers

THANKSTo all involved in creating this project, and also to my friend Don King, for inspiration.

All songs were written by Jim Stricklan copyright 2005, except where noted otherwise.

HOME ON THE RANGE (traditional / arranged by Jim Stricklan):

Give me a home,
Where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer and the antelope play.
Where seldom is heard,
A discouraging word,
And the sky’s are not cloudy all day.

Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play.
Where seldom is heard,
A discouraging word,
And the sky’s are not cloudy all day.

How often at night
When the heaven’s are bright
With the light of the glistening stars –
And I stood there amazed,
And wondered as I gazed,
If their glory is greater than ours

repeat chorus
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Fill up those canteens
And let’s get out of here while it’s still light,
We’ll drive up to the mountains,
Stop and rest there for the night-
Tonight we’ll dance to the band –
Tomorrow we’ll play in the sand
Of the Sangre de Christo.

I’ve had this aching deep inside of me
Ever since I don’t know when,
I long to get away
And feel some mountain sunshine on my skin-
I hope this good weather lasts –
‘Til we make it over Marshall Pass
Into the San Luis Valley.
instrumental bridge

We’ll fill our pockets full of sand
Beneath the gold dust of the dunes,
And watch the sun sink in the canyon
To the rising of the moon-
Take this car as far as it will go,
Sing every John Prine song we know…
As we roll on down the highway.

Fill up those canteens
And let’s get out of here while it’s still light,
We’ll drive up to the mountains,
Stop and rest there for the night-
Tonight we’ll dance to the band –
Tomorrow we’ll play in the sand
Of the Sangre de Christo.
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Out on the Utah desert,
Somethin’s hot, besides the weather,
Water and sand and the mountains kiss the sky –
Hot and dirty, we laid it all down,
By a lake, where the rocks were red and brown…
And woke in the mornin’ with the sunlight in our eyes.
Watched those houseboats come sailin’ in,
While we swam in the bay, and baked our skin…
Down in the marina we could drink beer in the shade;
Traded some smoke for a shower
And prayed out loud for the sunset hour –
I met a girl there, her blond hair was in braids.

Holly, I wanted to stay there and show you who I am,
Somethin’ in your smile girl told me I should;
I laid in my sleeping bag that night out on the sand,
Thinkin’ I would love Holly….if Holly would.

The desert was hot in the mornin’
As we piled in that car and drove away yawnin’
I wanted to turn back, but I couldn’t make it right…
Maybe you were just high on my songs;
I guess I might have read your signals wrong…
Was it something I didn’t say that made you say “Goodnight”?

Repeat chorus

I would love Holly,
I would love Holly,
I would love Holly, if Holly would.
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Try to imagine, I wonder if you can-
An ocean of air banked by ancient stone and sand;
Ten miles wide and a mile or more down deep,
Canyons and cliff walls so awesome and steep (at)

Grand Canyon – fill our hearts, open our eyes-
Grand, Grand Canyon – I’ll always remember
Your silent surprise.

Changing colors in cycles with the sun-
Chasing shadows on your rapid river run;
Giant Condors do sail upon the blue,
Smiling tourists try to find a better view (of)

Grand Canyon – fill our hearts, open our eyes;
Grand, Grand Canyon – I’ll always remember
Your silent surprise.

Eternal winds blow clouds across the sky-
God blinks an eye as a million years go by;
Natural wonders may be a state of mind,
secrets revealed from the watchtower of time (by)

Grand Canyon – fill our hearts, open our eyes;
Grand, Grand Canyon – I’ll always remember
Your silent surprise.
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I’m kind’ve sick of the city babe, can we go for a drive?
Grab your coat and take me by the hand—
So many sad faces looking more dead than alive,
Let’s take a break from our place in jungleland.

Half an hour later, somewhere off 285—
I’m lost in the dream of another day;
In a time when the buffalo roamed and birds filled the skies,
Wonderland where the antelope used to play.

Gone are the grizzlies now that once roamed these hills-
Giants of the wilderness, so powerful and real;
Does is matter to anyone now that all of them were killed?
We can still see them on microfilm and
Bronze statues outside our museum.

We’re building up shopping malls on prairie dog holes-
Helicopters with search lights circle the sky;
And the animal kingdom today is up against the wall—
Where will they live when there’s no place left to hide?

We’re cutting the forests down and making acid rain-
Poisoning the oceans of the earth;
As the ozone disappears and the weather starts to change,
Don’t it make you wonder what your life is worth?
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Zipped up the suitcase and we grabbed our traveling shoes,
Hopped on an air-o-plane to lose these working blues,
In an hour or two, me and you’ll be in New Mexico—
Land of Enchantment, where the tall pine and lilac bushes grow.

I’m shedding my skin out where the mountains meet the plains,
And everyday troubles are as rare as desert rain,
Buy some jewelry, from the natives on the square—
See some galleries, drink in the beauty there.

We’ll spend the night in the arms of Santa Fe,
where the turquoise sky and silver moon light up the Blessing Way,
Oh, we’re needing our freedom like the buffalo along the Cimarron.

Up to Colorado breathing in the cool, clean air,
Where the Heavens hug the Rockies in an ancient love affair,
My heart’s convinced my watch, now we’re back on mountain time—
Back to the rapture, to the scene of the crime.

Jamming in Denver with a host of precious friends,
I hope these memories and this music never ends,
I’ve lived my life in the shadow of a song—
Can’t stand goodbyes, so I’ll have to say so long.

Paradise lost and found in the blinking of an eye,
May the circle be unbroken on the ground and in the sky,
Oh, we’re needing our freedom like the buffalo along the Cimarron.

Viewing Mt. Evans from the castle of a friend,
I’ll soon be pouring out these feelings deep within,
Oh, I’m needing my freedom, like the buffalo along the Cimarron;
Yes, we’re needing our freedom like the buffalo along the Cimarron.
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TALE OF TWO (writers--Jim & Leslie Stricklan)

Kokopelli, by the fire—felt the rising desert wind,
Gazed into the crimson sky, longing for his long lost twin;
Kokobilly heard the wind call, as the canyon shadows fall,
Flew into the high arroyo, on the wings of a chaparral—


Kokopelli played a flute tune—Kokobilly strummed guitar,
Once in a million full moons, they could serenade the stars—
Coyote sang, Suguaro swayed, as the mystic brothers played,
Two as one, the sacred sign — ever-living dance of time…


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It’s getting harder than ever before
To keep el lobo away from the door –
I’ve got a trick up my sleeve,
I’m gonna pick up and leave,
Muchas gracias aqui por favor,
I’m goin’ incommunicado Senior!

Down in Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, O—Caliente,
Down in Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, there’s pleasure plenty;
Healing waters running free…
Sacred desert’s callin me (back to)
Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, O—Caliente.

I’ve been working from 2 until 10 –
Then I get up and do it over again –
Living from check to check
Is such a pain in the neck,
And I wonder where it’s gonna end…
If I don’t take an enchanted weekend.


Durango’s one fun place to play,
But there’s another on the way,
Down in Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, Ojo, O—Caliente
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“Augie goes on the wagon…seven bars go broke,”
Read the Buckskin Bugle headline
That some oldtimer wrote;
Out here in the new Old West
We all know it’s a joke,
'Cuz we’re up in Augie’s cabin in the hills.

Over by the fireplace, hangs Augie’s fur-lined hat-
There’s fishing poles for brook trout holes,
And muledeer gettin’ fat;
Aspen tree and antler in their natural habitat,
yea we’re up in Augie’s cabin in the hills.


Here’s to old Vic Miller,
That cowboy pioneer-
He built this place in ’38
And he kept it free and clear
Let’s raise a pint to Augie,
Livin’ down in New Orleans,
While you’re up here ridin’ Rainbow
In your cowboy boots and jeans.

[Break / repeat 1st verse and chorus / turnaround]
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Mesa Verde Mama, would you share a cliff dwelling with me?
Mesa Verde Mama, we could make some history;
Mesa Verde Mama, better watch what your doin’ –
Or someday your love will be an ancient ruin,
Mesa Verde Mama, would you share a cliff dwelling with me?

Anasazi gal, can I paint your glyph on my wall?
Anasazi gal, your so lean and tan and tall;
Your mama told your daddy, “Hey, I tried to warn her,”
But I like the way you’re lookin’ in all 4 corneres,
Anasazi gal, can I paint your glyph on my wall?
Mesa Verde Mama, can I be your cliff dwellin’ man?
Mesa Verde Mama, dancin’ in the desert sand;
We’ll fashion some rings made of turquoise and clay,
I’ll meet ya at the Kiva on our wedding day,
Mesa Verde Mama, can I be your cliff dwellin’ man?

Kokopelli’s cute,
And I know he plays the flute,
But he’s got a dozen other girls back at the butte –
Mesa Verde Mama, would you share a cliff dwelling with me?
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See them tumblin’ down, pledging their love to the ground—
Lonely but free I’ll be found,
Drifting along with the tumblin’ tumbleweed.

Cares of the past are behind, nowhere to go but I’ll find—
Just where the trail will wind,
Drifting along with the tumblin’ tumbleweed.


I know when night is gone….that a new world is born at dawn;
I’ll keep rolling along, deep in my heart is a song,
Here on the range I belong,
Drifting along with the tumblin’ tumbleweed.

[Break / repeat chorus & one verse / turnaround]
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Photos on this page:
Jim at Aspen, Colorado
Bridal Veil Falls, Telluride, Colorado (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1996)
Jim hiking to Missouri Falls, Colorado
Jim and Leslie on the road to TomBoy Mountain, Telluride, Colorado (Photo by Scott Maiers, 1996)
Jim and Leslie at Mohave Point, Grand Canyon, Arizona (Photo by Dorothy Capek, 2004)
Anasazi glyph, Puye Cliff Dwellings, New Mexico (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1994)
Watchtower at Desert View, Grand Canyon, Arizona (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 2004)
San Juan Mountains near Silverton, Colorado (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1996)
Royal Gorge, Colorado (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1987)
San Juan Mountains new Ouray, Colorado (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1996)
View from Mather Point at Grand Canyon, Arizona (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 2004)
Leslie hiking near the Collegiate Peaks, Colorado (Photo by Jim Stricklan, 1987)
Spruce Tree House, Mesa Verde, Colorado (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1996)
Cliff Palace, Mesa Verde, Colorado (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1996)
Augie's cabin near Cotapaxi, Colorado (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1985)
Leslie riding Rainbow in the aspens near Augie's cabin near Cotapaxi, Colorado (Photo by Bob Eidson, 1985)
Jim and friend Katy B at her B&B near Jemez, New Mexico (Photo by Leslie Stricklan, 1996)