| |
The Drifter
|
by
The Ironhorse Writer
©Copyright2000/2005
|
In my dreams I'm a drifter, long ago,
Riding through a town in Mexico.
A cantina down the road I long to see,
There a pretty Senorita waits for me.
It's been so long I pray fate, to me is kind,
Seven angry lawmen, not far behind.
Self defense, but justice wouldn't see,
Now Texas wants me swingin' from a tree.
Through the cantina doors I make my way,
Guitar and mandolin, no longer play.
A cold, empty feeling hangs in the air,
A cold, empty feeling, within each stare.
"For nothing, Senor, you've traveled so far,"
Said the old man standing by the bar.
"In Texas, she had heard, you'd lost your life,
Along with it, her dreams to be your wife."
"We grieve for her, and so it seems, for you,
But now, Senor, there's nothing you can do."
"From you, she couldn't bare to be apart,
And so the Angels spared her broken heart."
In the street, I heard a small boy say,
"Seven men with stars, they ride this way."
"Out back Senor, we'll bring your horse to you."
"You're wrong, old man, there is something I can do."
I smiled as the old man shed a tear,
Outside seven lawmen drawing near.
"Vaya con dios," from an old, trembling voice.
"Forgive me Lord, I just don't have a choice."
Things aren't always what they seem.
Sometimes you find yourself, within a dream.
As I drift from sleep to face another day.
A guitar and mandolin begin to play.
|
|
