text: A mother dies, leaving her young son
  To come to terms with the loss
  In remembrance of Fiona Chappel
  For her sons Tyler and Oliver
  I was barely 13 years old
  She came out of the Guadalupes on a night so cold
  Her coat was frosted diamonds in the sallow moons glow
  My silver palomino
  Sixteen hands from her withers to the ground
  I lie in bed and listen to the sound
  Of the west Texas thunder roll
  My silver palomino
  I track her into the mountains she loved
  Watch her from the rocks above
  Shed dip her neck and drink from the winter flows
  My silver palomino
  Our mustaneros were the very best, sir
  But they could never lay a rope on her
  No corral will ever hold
  The silver palomino
  In my dreams, bareback I ride
  Over the pradera low and wide
  As the wind sweeps out the draw
  Across the scrub desert floor
  Id give my riata and spurs
  If I could be forever yours
  Id ride into the serrania where no one goes
  For my silver palomino
  Summer drought come hard that year
  Our herd grazed the land so bare
  Me and my dad had to blowtorch the thorns off the prickly pear
  And mother, your hand slipped from my hair
  Tonight I wake early the sky is pearl, the stars aglow
  I saddle up my red roan
  I ride deep into the mountains along a ridge of pale stone
  Where the air is still with the coming snow
  As I rise higher, I can smell your hair
  The scent of your skin, Mother, fills the air
  Midst the harsh scrub pine that grows
  I watch the silver palomino