The Final Stare

The drifter was hardened from a thousand desert miles,
Eyes like a hawk in the merciless sun,
Gold in the ground calls with treacherous smiles,
One man rides steady, his shadow the only one.
The only one.

Wind through the graveyard whispers low,
Bones of the forgotten lie row on row,
Three crosses waiting where the secrets grow,
One holds the fortune, but nobody knows.
Nobody knows.

In the heat of the desert where the nameless ride,
Honor and greed wear the same kind of lie,
Trigger fingers itching under endless sky,
Only the silent ones make it out alive.
Only the silent ones make it out alive.

A ragged poncho hides a heart cold as stone,
Laughter like gravel, a rope in his hand,
He hunts like a wolf when he hunts alone,
Mercy’s a stranger in this burning land.
In this burning land.

In the heat of the desert where the nameless ride,
Honor and greed wear the same kind of lie,
Trigger fingers itching under endless sky,
Only the silent ones make it out alive.
Only the silent ones make it out alive.

Three men in a circle, the noon sun stands still,
Sweat on their brows, death sharp in the air,
Coins gleam like promises no one fulfills,
One step, one breath, then the final stare.
The final stare.

In the heat of the desert where the nameless ride,
Honor and greed wear the same kind of lie,
Trigger fingers itching under endless sky,
Only the silent ones make it out alive.

Only the silent ones make it out alive.
Only the silent ones make it out alive.
Only the silent ones make it out alive.
Yeah, alive!
Oh, alive.

©2025 Hugh Mungus