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