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Spurs dragging in the grey-green clay
Six-shooter heavy, but he can't decay
No breath in his lungs,
no blood in his chest A walking dead cowboy looking for rest
Mary Shaw is in the wooden wall Holding the strings of her
favorite doll
Billy's jaw clicks in the quiet night
Two ghosts waiting for a zombie fight
Raven's Far is an empty tomb Dead cowboy walking to his final
doom (oh
Mary)
Wooden dolls with a wicked grin Where the living end and the
dead begin
He draws his iron with a rotting hand
He don't fear the magic of this cursed land
Billy stares back with those glass-blue eyes While Mary Shaw hums her
lullabies (hmmmm-mmm)
No heartbeat inside his chest...
(no rest...) Just dry wind and a wooden doll...