The dust is settling on the
wooden floor
The sheriff's shadow lingers near the
door
Out on the plains where the
eagles cry
A thousand horses riding under a
crimson sky
Ride out,
ride out with the morning sun
We live and die by the
smoking gun
Through the valleys of the ancient
stone
Every rider
must face this trail alone
Face this trail alone
The clock strikes twelve,
no place to hide
Two shadows standing
side by side
Only the wind
remains