Her pounding hooves barely touched the ground,
If she escapes, she'll never be found.
The men's ropes are twirling, now flying throuth the air,
Waiting to tighten 'round the neck of the mare.

She sees it and cuts to the right,
While the riders draw empty ropes back up tight.
The men's horses are tiring, but she's fresh as a breeze.
"She's drawing away," whispers the wind in the trees.

Through the canyon, up the hill,
"The men are beaten; she's safe"; the cardinals thrill!
She'll never know bridle, blanket, nor saddle,
And she won't ever help cowboys round up the cattle.

'Cause she's a wild one by name and by mark,
The cowboys all round here call her The Wild Heart.
Now that's the tale of the sorrel mare that never got roped,
Because she evaded all the cowboys with her powerful 'lope.

sorry darling, i'm busy being fabulous, could you bother me later? [Grant Goodwin's status]

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go


To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far


To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march intoHell For a heavenly cause


And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest


And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star


From: The Man of Lamancha