Riding Shotgun

Sometimes there's a lot to be said for itchy trigger fingers

Riding Shotgun

Behind my back, a wasteland burns
Smouldering away
Something in the way she turned,
it just held too much sway
Dark horses pull this wagon now
Wild horses drag this train
We played our parts, we took our bows,
to pony cross the plain
Riding on the night train raw
On red eye flights I hide
Making up for what I saw
What I felt inside
Through darkest night, through wind and rain
I tally the debris
In pitchest plights, I try to feign
The best, I try to see
Yet embers echo where they stood
The voices that won’t cease
With scorched earth burning red as blood
And doubts winged on the breeze
With bridges burnt in canyons deep
Now ashes in ravines
The phantoms, they still haunt my sleep
From a past, painted serene
They whistle on night’s shadows, long
The night train’s errant call
Wagons wheeled, furrows strong
With seeds we sewed to fall
With harvests burning in the dark
A yellow trail, streaked we draw
Some shots will never make their mark
… they should always find their score