Minstrel of the Range [German translation]

See him out there a-ranging along

A solitary rider from out of the pass

Riding and singing all by himself

Of the old singing cowboys he may be the last

With a worn bag of songs, a worn out guitar

He chases the sundown and sings to the stars

And listen to him singing his melancholy string

He's a wandering minstrel of the range

A lone drifting rider just traveling along

Don't care where he's going, don't care where he's been

The rhythm of his song is the gate of his horse

And he tunes his guitar to the wind

And he rather be singing to the cattle at night

Feel the warmth of the campfire, the cold city lights

And he don't really care about fortune and fame

Just a traveling minstrel of the range

Now the range is a-changing into neon at nights

Folks have lost touch with the land

And they may tap their feet to some old cowboy's song

But mostly they don't understand

The feeling you get from a campfire's warm glow

As the plaintive notes of his song softly flow

Songs about cowboys and horses and trains

He's a vanishing minstrel of the range