Across the plain
flew the lone grey rider
Leather bag
pounding on his back
Above the clouds the moon
was climbing higher
A pack of wolves wanted
their money back
With folded arms
the chief stood watching
Painted braves
slipped down the hill
In his ears
the spirit talking
As they closed in
For an easy kill
At the house
the door was wide open
Wind blew
curtains off the rod
She was waiting and hoping
She was praying to her god
He was luckier than most men
He was barely in his prime
As she stood there
in the doorway
Her long dress flowing
Would he make it this time
