Jorge Luis Borges - Texas lyrics

And so it is here too. Here too, as at the Americas' other edge: the measureless plain where a cry dies unattended. Yes, here too, the Indian, mustang, lariat. Here too the secret bird that ever yet over the clamorings of history sings for an evening and its memory; here too the stars with mystic alphabet that dictate to my writing hand below such names, today, as the unceasing maze of days and turning days does not displace, as San Jacinto and the Alamo, and such Thermopylaes. Here, too, is rife with that brief unknown anxious thing called life.