Fuck that old man, his bottles piled high

Corrals are empty

Barn walls are falling down

His hands are empty

His mouth though, is full of magical bullshit still

And that old dog of his is about to die

But my heart still surrounds him

And there is nothing I can do about that

But watch

Remembering him riding ahead, breaking branches, breaking trail

Teaching me to be quiet in the mountains, giving me that gift

Teaching me his magic

I hold him now where I can

And I’ll watch him ride off ahead of me into the sunset

On a horse called alcoholism