Dead Canyon

With the cherokee sun sinking westward low

And the sound of the drums pounding down below

With the clay and the heat and the scorching sand

And the broken canyons filled with flat-topped land

With the shadows stretched out like cowhide tight

And the sun pushing through its last glimmer of light

The plateaus stretched high and no clouds filled the sky

The lone horseman knew. Tonight he would die.

The night came cold with a whistling hiss

And the cries of the wolf-breed were raised in the mist

The cowboy laid a hand to his gun

His pony nickered, it was ready to run

But the cowboy had promised. An oath to keep.

Though the night was cold and the mist was deep

So he sat stock still like a prairie reed

His back was rigid, a hand on his steed.

And soon through the mist came the sounds of spurs

A soft hiss click and a voice filled with slurs.

The man was drunk, his eyes were closed.

And filling his chest were a dozen arrows

His face was covered with dried up blood

His boots were caked in layers of mud.

He stumbled on, void of hearing or sight

And the cowboy knew he would die tonight.

The moon was pale in the midnight sky

Flooding the canyon with lights from on high

Below was a town, laid bare by its light

No crevice or crack could escape from its sight

The skeleton town was barren and bleak

Built up the side under old Harrows Peak

And the rider went down with a feeling of dread

This town built of living was filled with the dead

He heard as his pony crossed through the town gate

The drumming of indian war tribes abate

And silence rained down like a hail of stones

All silence except for the creak of old bones

A cracked wooden sign hung tossed in the wind

'No living are welcome, you'll soon meet your end

For the men of the living and ye who break bread

Have no place in this town, home of the dead'

But the rider cared not for the sign or its words

Or the piles of cow skulls from dozens of herds

He sat on his horse with his head to the road

Ignoring the sight of this wicked abode

And soon he reached the old church of the town

And raising a sigh swung his feet to the ground

For this was the end of all of his cares

And cracking a grin he climbed up the stairs

If he was to die and put all this to rest

Let it be in the house of God the blessed

For here he would free the lives of these ghosts

And free himself whom he hated most

With that name on his lips he pulled out a flint

And struck off a spark that cast a bright glint

And in that moment he saw calm and strange

Around in the pews all the town was arranged

All their cold glassy eyes and their sorrows and griefs

Then a hymn they raised up in tears of relief

As the altar caught fire and smoke filled the church

The rider sat praying until with a lurch

He fell into slumber his mind slipped away

As did the smell of rot and decay

He was filled with deep peace as the smells seemed to sway

And he woke quite rested outside the next day.

His pony and he were on top of a hill

And beside them Harrow Peak stretched upward still

But below in the valley was nothing but dust

The town had vanished like steel into rust

And so came the end of the dead canyon ghosts

At least thats what you'd if you asked most

But for me I believe that it's down there still

The ghosts cry with wolves to the moon long and shrill