Cowboys and Indians

Black rain, enclosed with pain and nothing left to gain. Dark clouds disguise the sun, under the moon stands a guy with a gun. His mental state is altered, his voice on display, a cowboy out to play. He strains to find the words to speak. In the end he will pretend His hospitality overrated, he has a helping hand to lend. He points and aims, squeezes the trigger At this shady character, that passing figure. The soldier of the damp and cold night His eye's blinded by the flash of a neon light. The crowd frozen with disbelief, citizens and self proclaimed soldiers of peace, the Indians too. The night has just begun, the moon silently creeping through the oddly shaped clouds. The drumming of ancient tribes pierce the night with they're thunderous sound. Dancing under the moon on the cold wet ground. Cowboys out west, Indians out east. Times of violent outbreaks followed by times of peace.