These tremors grow beneath my toes
The crest of the ripple's dark red glow
Like embers beneath the quiet moon with a lion's paw
It keeps my horses captive like a band of outlaws
Even the darkest night needs an ally
Against the morning light
And every word my lips suggest—
That's between my lips and the american west
Sat in the crooked range with a desert breath—
The steadfast threat of evening hanging over my head
Over some jagged trains that fade from sight
And melt in silver rivers soaked in midnight