the Sundown Spirit

What is that sundown spirit
that blows o’er the hills
And people say they feel
In old broken bones
and drafty swells

We hear it when a bullet
strikes the spanish mission bell
And there’s it in empty streets
ghost towns, graveyards on the hill.

An’ always there’s a mustang
scruffy, white and cream,
He doesn’t make a sound
And drifts through like a dream

And all the ufos seem to
Follow him at night
They kite around and watch him
And shine their crazy lights

The vampires in their caves
mobile homes and shallow graves,
They all say the same
That once he had a name

But no one can recall;

Unbroken stallion
Leaves his stall - farewell! so long,
Spooning Horse Saloon!