(diffordtilbrook)



There's smoke in the hills

And prints on the path

The moon dangles down on the hyena's laugh

And there are riders with guns by their sides

The wagon train's full of women and hides

The men drink and smoke to help pass the time

Men have their thoughts and plans to decide

And the dust brings the thirst to the mouths open wide

The wagon train leaves the hills

As the gold hits the fever

The wagon train tips the scales

Wagon train you can keep her



There's gold in them hills

It's treasure to claim

A ghost in the hillside calls out my name

In the wind a roar as the tumbleweed tumbles







The rocks cast a shadow where the horses have stumbled

And we light up a flame as the sky above rumbles

Like the bellies that feast on a meal that is humble

And the rain slashing down as i shave off my stubble



There's arrows that fly

As guns start to shoot

There's mud in your eye and stones in your boot

With wagons on fire and women left screaming

Some left for dead and others left bleeding

There's nothing left now and nothing worth keeping

The treasure was trapped and sprung when in sleeping

Not even the wind from the rocks is left breathing