Dust on the saddle

Dust on the Saddle

Rode out from Cheyenne with a heart full of rust,

Boots worn to leather, dreams ground to dust.

The wind hums a lonesome ol’ prairie tune,

Under a sky that’s as cold as the moon.

Dust on the saddle, blood on my hands,

Chasin’ a shadow across these badlands.

The devil’s been callin’, but I ain’t his man,

Just a drifter with no place to land.

Campfire’s dyin’, stars cut like a knife,

Thinkin’ of her and the weight of my life.

Left her in Tulsa with a tear in her eye,

Now it’s just me and this lonesome goodbye.

Dust on the saddle, blood on my hands,

Chasin’ a shadow across these badlands.

The devil’s been callin’, but I ain’t his man,

Just a drifter with no place to land.

Harmonica wails like a ghost in the night,

My old six-string hums by the firelight.

Every mile I ride, I’m searchin’ for grace,

But the past keeps a rope on my wandering pace.

Dust on the saddle, blood on my hands,

Chasin’ a shadow across these badlands.

The devil’s been callin’, but I ain’t his man,

Just a drifter with no place to land.

So I’ll ride till the dawn breaks this heart made of stone,

With the dust on my saddle, forever I’ll roam.