Featured In
Top Songs By Wyatt Flores
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Beau Bedford
Acoustic Guitar
Misa Arriaga
Bass
Mike LoPinto
Guitar
Aksel Coe
Drums
Will Van Horn
Pedal Steel Guitar
Matt Combs
Fiddle
Austin Yankunas
Background Vocals
Kenzie Miracle
Background Vocals
Clem Braden
Background Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Wyatt Flores
Songwriter
Ketch Secor
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Beau Bedford
Producer
Kenny Harrington
Assistant Recording Engineer
Phillip Smith
Recording Engineer
Misa Arriaga
Additional Engineer
Adam Grover
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
From five hundred feet above, in a fire, was a morning dove
Searching for a place to land
I'd perch up on the turnpike
Watch old sedans and semis
Wonder where they're going and where they've been
[Verse 2]
And looking back now, through the years
Before the hands of man were here
Rusty shovels found black gold
And tumbleweeds were free like the Choctaw and Cherokee
Before they had to call this land their home
[PreChorus]
If only they could see how it's gone
[Chorus]
Now it's red dirt tears and broken mirrors
And a little trailer park, just south of here
End of the world is gettin' near, but I still feel the same
And it's red dirt poor and wanting more
Mr. Weatherman knocking at my door
Where dreams go drying up like rain
Welcome to the plains
[Verse 3]
And if I was a coyote runnin'
Stealing on the Cimarron
Looking for a place to cool my head
Find shelter from the voices
Telling me my only choices
Get up, get gone, keep moving west
[PreChorus]
If I ever left, those eyes would fill up fast with
[Chorus]
Red dirt tears and broken mirrors
And a little trailer park just south of here
End of the world is getting near, but I still feel the same
And it's red dirt poor and wanting more
Mr. Weatherman knocking at my door
Where dreams go drying up like rain
Where dreams go drying up like rain
Welcome to the plains
[Chorus]
Now it's red dirt tears and broken mirrors
And a little trailer park just south of here
End of the world is getting near, but I still feel the same
And it's red dirt poor and wanting more
Mr. Weatherman knocking at my door
Where dreams go drying up like rain
Where dreams go drying up like rain
Where dreams go drying up like rain
Welcome to the plains
Welcome to the plains
Welcome to the plains
[Outro]
One, two, three, four
One, two
Written by: Ketch Secor, Wyatt Flores