If I Pass This Way Again

In a run-down little Cowtown south of San Antone
Sat the shadow of a cowboy at a bus stop all alone
He had no trinkets, nor trifles, not a thing to call his own
Just the Stetson on his head pulled way down low
He said, "I've lived here for a long time, I was never one to roam
But I've got this aching feeling, deep down in my bones
I hear that voice a-calling, calling me back home
I think I'd better listen and go on"

"But if I pass this way again, will they roll out that red carpet?
Will they shake my hand and ask me, 'brother, how the hell you been?'
Though I pass through fire and brim, will it even make a difference?
Will they know me if I pass this way again?"

He said, "I once had many friends here. Many knew my name
Now ask them if they know me, and they'll hang their heads in shame
I made an honest living. No honors do I claim
For a carpenter, there ain't much cause for fame"

"But if I pass this way again, will they roll out that red carpet?
Will they shake my hand and ask me, 'brother, how the hell you been?'
Though I pass through fire and brim, will it even make a difference?
Will they know me if I pass this way again?"

Then he took off that Stetson, and his face I did see
He looked so old and weathered, though no more than thirty-three
I thought he shed a tear but this I could not guarantee
And as he stood up to go, he said to me:

But if I pass this way again, will you roll out that red carpet?
Will you shake my hand and ask me, 'brother, how the hell you been?'
Though I pass through fire and brim, tell me it will make a difference
Will you know me if I pass this way again?"

And just like that, he was gone, like the changing of the wind
His words cut right through me, as strange as they had been
Why'd he sound so familiar like one of those old Gospel hymns?
Maybe I'll ask him when he pass this way again