By Burl Ives

Pasatiempo - - TERRELL’S TUNE-UP -

It’s just a lit­tle vil­lage ly­ing out of the way, a lit­tle north of Al­bu­querque, a lit­tle south of Santa Fe where the jets from Cal­i­for­nia leave their trails in the sky. I’m a-stay­ing in Galisteo till the day that I die.

‘Cause my lit­tle brown adobe nes­tled warm in the sun where the coy­otes chase the rab­bits

and the road­run­ners run. I’m happy as a hoot owl when the cool breezes blow up the draw in Galisteo where my cot­ton­woods grow

A lit­tle glass of wine with a buddy of mine

or maybe a cup of tea, the magic of song and the shad­ows grow long that’s good enough for me.

In my fa­vorite lit­tle vil­lage ly­ing out of the way, a lit­tle north of Al­bu­querque, a lit­tle south of Santa Fe where the jets from Cal­i­for­nia leave their trails up above. I’m stay­ing in Galisteo with the folks that I love.

Look­ing out my door, about a quar­ter to four, I wave when the Chief goes by and though it’s just a train, I never could ex­plain why a tear comes to my eye.

Un­less it’s that I’m thank­ful that I’m liv­ing each day a lit­tle north of Al­bu­querque, a lit­tle south of Santa Fe where the jets from Cal­i­for­nia leave their trails

in the sky up above. I’m stay­ing in Galisteo with the folks that I love At home in Galisteo where the road­run­ners run.

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