soiled because no one had put their foot forward
fast enough to claim aggressor, captor, victim, love
In those old westerns where the mighty herd of cattle
neither leads the hero back home nor betrays him
they just stand their ground and watch, with cow eyes
Somehow, though, I am riding off into the lonely night
riding hard and facing forward and taking the reins
however loosely they might flail in my grip
It is one of those nights, with a black and blue sleeve
cast over the rest of the set, this diegesis speaks
about these little things and nothing new
Given everything is blaring in this light
it still seems hard to understand, and I wish
I was Loretta, because at least I could sing
In that burning, sad way she has a way
with making everything turn into a rodeo
night, blame it on the lover
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