The Double Cross R. Leschen (22 February 2006)

 

Twice upon western skies I turned to see the sun,

Split between the golden land and the rumble of the drum.

 

My eyes they rest on empty souls, who see only at night,

They speak to me in several tongues and tell me to take flight.

 

*Iím tired of being stretched and tied, I forgot who wrote the plot,

The cedar gates are scorched and burned, Are you girls goiní south?

 

Rattle snakes and petticoats wash that wagon down,

Remove all those rusty spots and tear that fucker down.

 

Iíll meet you at the double cross where the cattle rest their hooves,

Youíll see me Ďneath the green-lit light mixing magic with whiskey wolves.*

 

Pandoras forces are tearing out of their broke down palisades,

Pushed back to the edge of no where men should stake their claim.

Iím leavin the familiar for some outback Spanish place,

Where the ages are forgotten and the old retain their face.

 

Immerse me in the desert dust, cover up my soul,

I donít know who won or lost, donít care who wears my clothes.

 

Bleed some tears for the indolent and rise for men a peace,

Iím easing my old pony now, Iím saddle-packed and free.*