Chawathka
The Indian brave rides all alone
Beneath the mountains made of stone
Under the clouds that go sailing by
With heavy heart and occasional tear he will cry
Lost many tribesmen during the Indian wars
Though white men he killed by the scores
A war of hate from both sides
That’s why a lonely path he now rides
A fearless warrior, a commanding chief
Who had to lead his people through all the grief
See women and children killed at will
Many terrible sights he see’s still
Now he wanders in his buckskin clothes day and night
With his feather in his hair an awesome sight
With his trusted pony his only friend
He will now roam until his end
Chawathka, a last remnant of the Great Plains war
Now he rides and thinks what was it all for
Was it worth all the sacrifice
His people paid a terrible price
As they fought for freedom from the whites
But he still has nightmares during his lonely nights
And he will wander until his dying day
Under the Sun and Moon, riding every which way
He Stands Alone
He stands alone, gun in hand
Amongst his comrades in a God forsaken land
Bullets fly like pouring rain
As in the distance the bombing starts again
His water canteen shot full of holes
In his boots his feet feel like red hot coals
All that marching through the night
A sorry bunch in the moon so bright
The order comes from up the line
Charge straight and true
Now those in charge now know what to do
Our intrepid hero puts his life on the line again
In the muck and bullets, the blood, the pain
Onward they rush over hill and dale
No way have they wanted this charge to fail
Bullets fly, cannons roar
No peace amongst the blood and gore
Where will he be later, heaven or hell?
It’s onwards and upwards so who can tell
Feathers
Beauty is the Spirit
Held closely inside the circle of life
Her long hair flows like a mountain stream
Soon to be a fearless brave’s loving wife
The Feathers symbolize the seasons
They will walk together heart and soul
Combined as one forever
By a love they cannot control
Her soft lips whisper his name at night
Whilst they sleep beneath the Stars and Moon
Cuddled close against the wind and rain
Buffalo skins their only solace from the night time gloom
A love like theirs is only found
Once in a lifetime if at all
The wilderness a home for them forever
Shared only with the Spirit Wolf’s mysterious call
She Wolf
An Indian Maiden sits and ponders
A Wolf sat intently by her side
Her thoughts are her only memory
Of a life she’s lived with pride
As a child she saw the battles
Her tribe had to fight to survive
Tending wounds and burying the dead
She is just glad to be alive
The white man’s guns were smoking
Hatred in the air
The whistle of the bullets
Flying everywhere
Captured and sent to a reservation
Where she did not want to go
The walk across the Prairie
In the Rain the Wind and Snow
She feels her life has ended
No more freedom to come and go
Through the Black Hills of Dakota
And the plains that stretch below
Her one true friend, this lonely Wolf
Who answers her every call
Together they dream of yesteryears
The seasons, spring, summer, winter and fall
Her colourful buckskin dresses
Matched by the beauty in her eyes
Remembers everything from her past life
The wickedness, the pain and lies
But still she sits and wonders
What life has in store, as time goes by
Instilled in the deepest memory
Both in her and the wolf’s howling cry
Johnny Rhondo
The fastest gun alive am I
never intend to quit or die
I’ve killed men for fun and fame
to me it’s just an exciting game.
Two forty-fives one on each side
hang on my hips, make sure they slide
from there holsters, real quick but straight
if I draw slow it will be to late.
When bullets fly and hit there mark
death arrives, your world is dark
never intend that it should be me
so a killer I will always be.
But luck runs out sometimes its true
someone is faster, more daring than you
if I meet my match my maker will
bury me deep up on Boot Hill
I walk a path that will always mean
Friends are never what they seem
always aware of the price on my head
and a lot of people wish me dead.
It’s a lonely life that’s for sure
sometimes I wish for something more
but realize that can never be
to kill is the only way to be free.
Pinkerton men are on my trail
I ride for miles through snow and hail
reach Abilene a frontier town
no doubt someone will try to gun me down.
Hitch my horse outside the store
bullets needed, must get more
as I walk across the street
theirs is no sound, that kinda neat.
In a moment more I will know why
as the bullets begin to fly
Pinkertons have lain in wait
now I know my final fate.
As I draw and fire my gun
bullets hit me one by one
slump to my knees down in the street
my chest hurts now I see the blood secrete.
In the dirt my life fuel drains
I feel further darting pains
as more bullets hit the mark
things cloud over, it becomes dark.
My spirit rises and looks down
at the figure on the ground
I realize it must be me
my dead body I can see.
The end comes to us all in time
but mine came whilst I was in my prime
at thirty one, just for the papers page
Johnny Rondo died in a rage.
Twenty or more years ago
that scene happened I can’t let go
if you visit Abilene
a ghostly figure can be seen.
In the street just walking tall
six guns quiet they’ve done it all
a whispering figure who can it be
don’t worry folks its only me.
Life on the Trail
Hi, my name is Tom Morgan
A cowboy of note
With my old battered hat
And my weather-beaten long coat
I have ridden the range
For almost fifty years
A life full of laughter
Along with some tears
With two trusty colt forty-fives
That hangs down by my side
And they have come in pretty handy
As I have ridden far and wide
My fellow cowboys and me
Have traveled many a mile
Throughout our lifetimes
With good cheer and a smile
Trail herding steers
A few thousand head at a time
Over thousands of miles
In the dust and the grime
Sleeping out under the Moon and the Stars
My faithful horse Old Blackie and me
Covered up in my blanket against the wind and the rain
And with Steers as far as the eye could see
Always on the lookout against rustlers and the like
Waking up with a stiff back and a fart
Looking forward to reaching the end of the drive
Heading straight for a bath and fun with a bawdy house tart
Though life was hard in the saddle
My backside sore day by day
Many an adventure was had
In a sad kind of way
Rounding up strays, that had a mind of their own
Or fighting off Indians gone bad
All of that hard tack, bacon and beans did us no good at all
And the loneliness at night rather sad
But I had always wanted to be a cowboy
Since I was a child
Ran away from home at fourteen
I was restless and wild
Got into a gunfight at the age of eighteen
With an outlaw named Bad Jack McGraw
But my hands were faster as I went for my guns
I beat him hands down to the draw
You never forget the first time you kill another man
No matter how bad he might be
As the bullets quickly ripped into his chest, body oozing life
All I could think of was stopping him killing me
Though it was a fair gunfight
He had drawn down on me first
From that sad afternoon
I was forever cursed
As being the man who had killed Bad Jack McGraw
Now known as the fastest gun alive
I disappeared into the shadows settling for life on the range
So as to have a better chance to survive
Because there’s always someone faster, quicker on the draw
Your life can be cut very short have no fear
And I wanted to live more than anything else at eighteen
Not killed by someone’s six-guns you might hear
So I took up a cowboy’s life, found me a reliable horse
That’s how me and Old Blackie got acquainted you see
Now we have been together for many a year
Against the world just him and me
Now we ride the range, inseparable, always together
Against the elements we struggle, the heat and the rain
But though our life is hard and full of excitement and danger
We live it daily, again and again
Spirit of the Wolf
As two hearts beat as one
Like a new life has begun
Clasped tightly to his breast
Her head nestling on his chest
Her Indian brave so tall, so strong
Protects her body all night long
The spirit of the Wolf looms high
Like a guiding beacon in the sky
Seen only by the two, so still below
Not hidden even by Rain or Snow
The Sun gleams from within their eyes
Shining down through even cloudy skies
Two lover’s thoughts, so secret, so deep
Inside each heart a soul to keep
Each Wolf’s spirit whispers upon the windy breeze
Deep in each mind feelings do freeze
Like Ice to melt away on each passionate night
Lying together until daylight
Forever surrounded by the passion of each tender sigh
Watched by canine spirits floating in the sky
Two lovers seemingly alone in their own world
Waiting for peace on earth, to be unfurled.
Belle
She is a dance hall singer in old Abilene
The toughest town the west’s ever seen
With a body for breakfast every day of the week
Where even the sheriff is rarely found
Those that were are now underground
Boot Hill in littered with the flotsam of the west
Whose tales of daring are exaggerated at best
But Belle was the star of the Old Pokey Saloon
Where life began at midnight and ran until noon
Wild Bill Hickock a frequent guest
Tried his luck at the tables two guns in his vest
Many a time he had to draw fast
More than his cards or his life wouln’t last
But Belle was above this her voice like a dream
To many a cowboy an Angel it would seem
So long in the saddle riding the range as they may
To the cowboys she was such a relief at the end of the day
Many man tried to molest her it seems
But in reality she was just part of their every day dreams
Because she was in love with the sheriff, Luke Longhorn, her beau
It was he she returned to after each show
As time went by they married had kids galore
But most of the others became memories of western folklore