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Poem
We would go to the forgotten towns of west Texas
Places that we couldn’t name and hunt for their souls
Sometime it was on the roadside a place they had been abandoned
Sometimes in and old house broken and forgotten
She’d stand there in her boots and ragged old skirt and start to sing
A lonesome strain of an old cowboy song
And they would come to her and as they did we would lay them down beside her
Put them to rest one final time.
Jack would play the fiddle and me the tambourine
Scrappy would join in on the guitar and we’d work the place until we had all those lost spirits
Standing in the corners or sitting in the shadows
They came to us waiting for a final place to rest.
Some where girls an others young caballeros
Who’d lost their way in a crash to their final destination
She’d sing “My Rifle, My Pony and Me” and they would enter her soul
Annie would take as many as she could and then we would have to leave
She would collapse on the ground and we would carry her to the car
And drive far into the desert close to the borderline
We would start a fire and begin to sing and play once again
And the spirits would leave her one by one some painfully some like flowing water
Then we would head to the nearest town and buy some tequila
and drink until dawn…
We did this for years until Annie couldn’t stand it any longer
One day she said she lost her taste for the dead and she never sang again
I can still hear her voice down by the river
Flowing across the rocks and down along the bottoms
And I wonder where she ended up for I lost her in El Paso
Never once she said and twice would be forever….
So now I sing those songs hoping to remember that lonesome sound
That woke the dead and brought them to our souls
Sometimes it seems like yesterday but I know it is a lifetime from this place
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