In the sun-baked dust of the rodeo ground,
Where cheers and roars of the crowd resound,
A young man rode with courage ablaze—
Lane Frost, the cowboy, who rode to amaze.
With fire in his spirit and steel in his hands,
He was known through the plains and the wide-open lands.
A soul bound by courage, a heart bound by fate,
For the bull was his partner, yet death lay in wait.
From little boy dreams on the open range,
To the thrill of the ride and the yearning for change,
He learned how to grip and he learned how to fall,
To stare into danger and stand ten feet tall.
The legends would gather and speak of his name,
In whispers and shouts, they revered his fame.
For he rode like a comet, wild and free,
A hero in denim, in rough destiny.
Among many bulls, one bore the crown,
A fierce beast called Red Rock, feared across town.
Nine riders he’d tossed, none could withstand
The fury that lay in Red Rock’s command.
But Lane had a fire that couldn’t be quelled,
In his eye, a glimmer, his confidence swelled.
They faced off in battle—man against beast—
And the crowd held its breath, and the cheering increased.
With every hard buck and the spins that he gave,
Lane clung to the leather, bold and brave.
The crowd erupted as he held his line—
The man who’d conquered where others declined.
And though he was young, barely twenty-five,
He’d conquered his legend, come fully alive.
But fame is a shadow that flickers and bends,
And the lives of the bold meet bittersweet ends.
In the summer of Cheyenne, the crowd gathered round,
To witness the courage Lane brought to the ground.
He rode like a storm, but the bull fought back,
In a brutal and tragic, unexpected attack.
A horn to his side, in a heartbeat of pain,
Lane fell to the dust, silent, and slain.
Though medics rushed in, though prayers were cried,
The life of the cowboy began to subside.
And the skies seemed to dim, the wind held its breath,
As the rodeo mourned the young hero’s death.
In sorrow, the fans and his friends all wept,
For the one who rode high, in the earth now slept.
But legends don’t die, they rise and they soar,
Beyond the bullrings, forevermore.
In the stories told round the campfire\'s light,
In each young rider who dreams of the night.
They carry Lane’s spirit, that fearless spark,
To ride with their hearts through the wild and dark.
For though he fell, his courage survived—
In the hearts of the living, Lane Frost is alive.
So here’s to the cowboy, to bravery’s cost,
To life’s wild ride and the spirit of Frost.
May he gallop the heavens, bold and free,
The bull rider, the legend, in eternity.