I must confess, somewhat meekly,
An almost fatal and total weakness,
Enjoyment, perhaps even fondness,
For that golden Elixir, Frontier Whiskey.

My Companion with me, almost always,
On many a strange and untold adventure;
From Mountain tops to plunging valley's
People and places, seem to keep a calling.

Specially those calls from lovely women;
Females of any age or description,
Seeking love and it's fulfillment,
In a cold cruel world, so oft without it.

Wanton calls, that can't stay waiting,
Needing love, they cry out for it,
Waking passions long dead within me,
Fired up once more by that Frontier Whiskey.

Could resist them all, quite well without it,
But once that liquid gold is in me,
Resolve falls like my well worn trousers,
And restraints the last thing I can muster.

Now it's kissing time, that overtakes me;
Tradin' passions with a lady; modesty, a thing forgotten,
Exchanged for a madness, to be long remembered, 
Mid silken white sheets, in perfumed chambers.

So do not lament my foretold downfall;
The smiles are warm, the night's been calling;
I shall love now and then, and perhaps, forever;
Till they're done with me and that Frontier whiskey.


Tristan (recalling)




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