The wind whispers through the grass,
They say it will all come to pass,
Dawn approaches to bring another day,
Before it starts we kneel down and pray,
We saddle up and ride to town,
Riding through grass dull and brown,
Another man today will be hung,
Yet another song that will be sung,
Spectators gather from all around,
There they stand on the hardened ground,
They watch where the man will hang,
To them, nothing is more musical than a twang,
We stand upon a small hill,
Stand with them we never will,
For we know what's to come,
It won't be them who have won,
For when the man's neck does break,
It will be their lives we take,
For we are outlaws with our pride,
When our leader dies they cannot hide.
© Copyright 2016 ShadowHeartedCowboy. All rights reserved.
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