Fire On The Western Front
Save the horses
The barn is burning
A chain gang forms
The Bucket Brigade
Gallons of water
Pulled from a deep dirt well
The scorching red paint
Is burning in the night
The fire is whipping in the wind
A rushing burst is ripping ‘cross the prairie plain
The drunk was left alone and discovered a bottle of Scotch
Now he roams the streets in haze
Watching the town burn and blaze
The stupor of his mind reaching to his feet
Stumbling one step forward
One step side
He speaks the truth in metaphors mistaken for madness
He offers innuendos that are much misunderstood
Bursts of brilliant orange have split the sky in two
Seen from miles away
Any watching eye will know what they mean
They believe in telepathy
Sending best wishes in the form of brain waves
Surging like the seas
Washing over buffalo that aren’t yet gone
The natives have seen what nature’s done
The sheriff is caught with a pail half raised
Would that he could just let it all go
Salvage does not mean salvation
And will either come at all
Rushing into town like a locomotive
Ripping across tracks so newly installed
Bringing a future over the rotting backs of Bedouins
The socially rejected
A reputation that can be tasted
Savory sickly sweet
Melting in your mouth like the finest foods
Rotting in the desert sun
Scalding like a pail of water cooking to perfection and growing green
The night sky is clouded blacker than before
Blocked with ash and smoke
Tarring the heavens with the flaws of humanity
How many people will be lost to the plague
Buildings to the flame
How many truths would be silenced by religion
How will the brave survive when cowards rule the high seas
But the Vikings are here no more
It is Cowboys and Indians
The Good
The Bad
The Worse
For lack of magic cupboards
For lack of seven bullets in your six-bullet gun
It is Russian Roulette when the barn burns this long
The flames pull off like spider legs
And lick the steeple of the school next door
The bell will fall and crack
The town lacks the skill to repair it and cannot afford to hire help
It is dying in the dirt
Abandonment will leave it empty
And the earth will swallow it down with tumbleweed chasers
The Tall Stranger never rode in
The Man in Black never came and never left
He played poker in the saloon and no one drove him out
The piano works because no one shot it
But refuses to play a merry tune
The bar serves a heavy liquor of its own design
And the town will sleep well past high noon
No one can die in this place where no one was born
The horses are made of bone
The people made of crust and yeast
Devoid of all humanity and drying in the heat
Streets are paved with mud in a land that has never seen rain
Has never felt relief
A wolf wanders through
Mistaken for a dog
Emptiness is worshipped
Mistaken for God
Dawn is broken so a new day will never come
Dusk is shattered so the old one will never die
The town is just the buildings now
Deserted by all in possession of their souls
The devil came to make his deals and found nothing worth the take
Salvation may come for lack of something else
But until the end they never can be sure
The streets are riddled with bodies
Those trampled when the barn began to burn
As the rest rushed to leave
It could all collapse
It could all come down
Like storefronts in a Hollywood film
The Story of the Failure will ride again
The never-ending sunset of a blood red sky
It could be the never ending cattle push
Searching for greener ground when you’ve never seen the color
When you’ve never seen the grass
It could be anything it wanted
Except that it is only what it is
The town that used to be a somewhere
The people who used to be people
But burnt out shells
Devoid of merit
Devoid of meat
Missing all I have ever said
Spoken clear but without the sound
Trying not to swim when you know you cannot drown
The barn is burning
A chain gang forms
The Bucket Brigade
Gallons of water
Pulled from a deep dirt well
The scorching red paint
Is burning in the night
The fire is whipping in the wind
A rushing burst is ripping ‘cross the prairie plain
The drunk was left alone and discovered a bottle of Scotch
Now he roams the streets in haze
Watching the town burn and blaze
The stupor of his mind reaching to his feet
Stumbling one step forward
One step side
He speaks the truth in metaphors mistaken for madness
He offers innuendos that are much misunderstood
Bursts of brilliant orange have split the sky in two
Seen from miles away
Any watching eye will know what they mean
They believe in telepathy
Sending best wishes in the form of brain waves
Surging like the seas
Washing over buffalo that aren’t yet gone
The natives have seen what nature’s done
The sheriff is caught with a pail half raised
Would that he could just let it all go
Salvage does not mean salvation
And will either come at all
Rushing into town like a locomotive
Ripping across tracks so newly installed
Bringing a future over the rotting backs of Bedouins
The socially rejected
A reputation that can be tasted
Savory sickly sweet
Melting in your mouth like the finest foods
Rotting in the desert sun
Scalding like a pail of water cooking to perfection and growing green
The night sky is clouded blacker than before
Blocked with ash and smoke
Tarring the heavens with the flaws of humanity
How many people will be lost to the plague
Buildings to the flame
How many truths would be silenced by religion
How will the brave survive when cowards rule the high seas
But the Vikings are here no more
It is Cowboys and Indians
The Good
The Bad
The Worse
For lack of magic cupboards
For lack of seven bullets in your six-bullet gun
It is Russian Roulette when the barn burns this long
The flames pull off like spider legs
And lick the steeple of the school next door
The bell will fall and crack
The town lacks the skill to repair it and cannot afford to hire help
It is dying in the dirt
Abandonment will leave it empty
And the earth will swallow it down with tumbleweed chasers
The Tall Stranger never rode in
The Man in Black never came and never left
He played poker in the saloon and no one drove him out
The piano works because no one shot it
But refuses to play a merry tune
The bar serves a heavy liquor of its own design
And the town will sleep well past high noon
No one can die in this place where no one was born
The horses are made of bone
The people made of crust and yeast
Devoid of all humanity and drying in the heat
Streets are paved with mud in a land that has never seen rain
Has never felt relief
A wolf wanders through
Mistaken for a dog
Emptiness is worshipped
Mistaken for God
Dawn is broken so a new day will never come
Dusk is shattered so the old one will never die
The town is just the buildings now
Deserted by all in possession of their souls
The devil came to make his deals and found nothing worth the take
Salvation may come for lack of something else
But until the end they never can be sure
The streets are riddled with bodies
Those trampled when the barn began to burn
As the rest rushed to leave
It could all collapse
It could all come down
Like storefronts in a Hollywood film
The Story of the Failure will ride again
The never-ending sunset of a blood red sky
It could be the never ending cattle push
Searching for greener ground when you’ve never seen the color
When you’ve never seen the grass
It could be anything it wanted
Except that it is only what it is
The town that used to be a somewhere
The people who used to be people
But burnt out shells
Devoid of merit
Devoid of meat
Missing all I have ever said
Spoken clear but without the sound
Trying not to swim when you know you cannot drown
Comments