With the cherokee sun sinking westward low
And the sound of the drums pounding down below
With the clay and the heat and the scorching sand
And the broken canyons filled with flat-topped land
With the shadows stretched out like cowhide tight
And the sun pushing through its last glimmer of light
The plateaus stretched high and no clouds filled the sky
The lone horseman knew. Tonight he would die.
The night came cold with a whistling hiss
And the cries of the wolf-breed were raised in the mist
The cowboy laid a hand to his gun
His pony nickered, it was ready to run
But the cowboy had promised. An oath to keep.
Though the night was cold and the mist was deep
So he sat stock still like a prairie reed
His back was rigid, a hand on his steed.
And soon through the mist came the sounds of spurs
A soft hiss click and a voice filled with slurs.
The man was drunk, his eyes were closed.
And filling his chest were a dozen arrows
His face was covered with dried up blood
His boots were caked in layers of mud.
He stumbled on, void of hearing or sight
And the cowboy knew he would die tonight.
The moon was pale in the midnight sky
Flooding the canyon with lights from on high
Below was a town, laid bare by its light
No crevice or crack could escape from its sight
The skeleton town was barren and bleak
Built up the side under old Harrows Peak
And the rider went down with a feeling of dread
This town built of living was filled with the dead
He heard as his pony crossed through the town gate
The drumming of indian war tribes abate
And silence rained down like a hail of stones
All silence except for the creak of old bones
A cracked wooden sign hung tossed in the wind
'No living are welcome, you'll soon meet your end
For the men of the living and ye who break bread
Have no place in this town, home of the dead'
But the rider cared not for the sign or its words
Or the piles of cow skulls from dozens of herds
He sat on his horse with his head to the road
Ignoring the sight of this wicked abode
And soon he reached the old church of the town
And raising a sigh swung his feet to the ground
For this was the end of all of his cares
And cracking a grin he climbed up the stairs
If he was to die and put all this to rest
Let it be in the house of God the blessed
For here he would free the lives of these ghosts
And free himself whom he hated most
With that name on his lips he pulled out a flint
And struck off a spark that cast a bright glint
And in that moment he saw calm and strange
Around in the pews all the town was arranged
All their cold glassy eyes and their sorrows and griefs
Then a hymn they raised up in tears of relief
As the altar caught fire and smoke filled the church
The rider sat praying until with a lurch
He fell into slumber his mind slipped away
As did the smell of rot and decay
He was filled with deep peace as the smells seemed to sway
And he woke quite rested outside the next day.
His pony and he were on top of a hill
And beside them Harrow Peak stretched upward still
But below in the valley was nothing but dust
The town had vanished like steel into rust
And so came the end of the dead canyon ghosts
At least thats what you'd if you asked most
But for me I believe that it's down there still
The ghosts cry with wolves to the moon long and shrill
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