The stranger rode into town on his broken heart, a guitar slinger with more than a few miles on him.  We were jamming at a bar in Milwaukee,  said we were going to play some country tunes.  He comes up and says, 'that's my music, let me show you how that's done."  So he taught us some old songs and we decided to put a band together.  And it was good. He put some twang in our shows, and told us stories about the road, places he'd been, all the times he'd almost made it big.  

We should have known he wasn’t going to stay.  His love was back in Missouri, in that country music town called Branson.  When she called him late one night, he left us without a word.  Just packed his bag and guitar into the old van and headed back south.

We don't blame him.   

We all want to go to a place filled with music and love and good times.  We are all Bound for Branson.