Lone Ranger Hat

This started to be about what it might feel like to be the last flock of chickens, the last outhouse, the last milk man - in town. Thinking of the time when the milk man would walk right into the house in the
morning and re-stock the refrigerator for us. His name was Danny
Pinson.

And the last outhouse in town was on ninth street down by Cleveland street. The last guy to raise chickens in the city limits was Richard Mathes and that wasn't too long ago. A couple of locals fit the
description below. However they were long gone before I learned their
names.

'The Lone Ranger Hat'

Sometimes he feels

Like the last ice man in town

The last outhouse

The last wooden bat

The last bowl of stew at the post office diner

The last old man wearing his Lone Ranger hat

Time passes him by

Like a whirlwind in summer

And he's tried to hang on

But he lost his grip

He takes his place in the spigot of memory

Moves slowly through town

Like a silent drip, drip

It's not a sad story

It's a big Christmas morning

Spread out through time

All papery thin

Like diamonds through gauze

This lifetime of sparkles

Cemented in memories of family and friends

(Chorus)

He's the last outhouse

He's the last wooden bat

He's last old man wearin'

A Lone Ranger hat

Addendum:

Final verse inspired by words from Steve Ripley. Thanks Steve!

He sees quite clearly

Though some say he's blind

He was once one of many

Now he's one of a kind.