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Steve Smyth
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Barbiturate Cowboy and His Dark Horses
The heads of lots of cold end streets,
The dessert wings of statues on the stairs,
All the pennies, in the wishing well
All the footsteps, I keep ahead.
Solitude's a gone belief,
Dessert winds blow through a hollow pass,
All the pennies, in the wishing well,
All the pennies, in the wishing well.
Dance on the roof,
Blisters from the rake,
Tie yourself over, Make it through another day,
At out your hands is pistols at dawn.
Barbiturate cowboy,
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And his dark horses.
I can't forget, I cannot sleep,
The flicking slides keep on clicking,
And the strange, a little less funny,
As they plead, pistols at dawn.
Dance on the roof,
All is all but an echo,
As I get down to, hear the footsteps of my enemy,
I used to know fear but, things have changed.
Barbiturate cowboy,
And his dark horses.
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