We were born to count out our days, ring the rounds
At our old haunts, lurking round the grooms and groans for you,
‘Til then we needed a getaway out there somewhere on the wind
With our worst enemy though proudly mine and proudly yours.

And in my shadow heart I remember a mad hater
And a bobbing head, his bobbing in my own gaze
As my arms stretched wide, as our arms stretched wide,
Displayed as though on crucified cross of reckoning.

Strangled we were in the train-rolling dream,
Though we were strangers, in my hard eye, everytime
We were Tex-Mex Gringoes with a great wife.
All gorgeous they were, gray graces we have deemed.

Grooked have I kneezed the crook of Your hat,
Pricked to the tip of our dirt road poulaines
At O.K. Showdown of Although’s Corral,
For what was seen then got stuck there in my craw.

So let us have a Beer with Jesus together
In each other’s arms. Let us wrangle a Bison
Not as strangers, but Rangers through and though
They’ll tuck us in pouches of a liver-shaped fob.


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