two golden fishes, sleeping under the cool rocks too deep to be woke.

He learned the hard way, gambling on the river is no way to live.

Turning sand to glass, the blazing sun is turning my body to ash.

Muddied with black tar, the great earth beneath my feet has seen better days.

Our youth has left us and like the plains buffalo will never return.

Brandishing six guns, the bandits left the miners reaching for the sky.

Twenty years adrift, dreaming away his whole youth on a fishing boat.

The girls flowing skirt contained a child bandit and candy fortune.

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To see if I can
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Billowy masses, like elephants of the sky a stampeding herd.

The loud rifle shot rang out strangling the trees of their cool silence.

Over the waves of grain stood a straw man eight feet tall returning to dust.

The bright orange blaze the evening they burned Richmond was seen for miles.