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.
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