Copyright © 2006 by Kenneth Mark Vigil
All Rights Reserved

Thunder in the morning, chasing memory down the mountain
Brings a longing to the surface of his soul

Dark clouds the horizon and the shadows tell the story
Of another restless rider on the storm

Down from Mora Valley through the sagebrush of Las Vegas
On his way to look for work in Santa Fe

Crops were poor this summer and a baby’s coming on
Leave them now, there is no other way

Gamblers, thieves, and ladies, and the priests all want a stranger
Want his money, want his body, want his soul

Hunger clouds his thinking and the dust it takes some drinking
To quench his thirst and bring a sense of whole

Santa Fe brings trouble not the work that he was needing
Brings the mercury of ancestry to bear

Far away his wife and children kneel and make the sign of Jesus
While he laughs and drinks beneath the Devil’s stare

He tries his hand at gambling with a little he’d been saving
And surprises himself when he starts to win

Whiskey works like poison, turning heart and head to leather
The evil in him wants to win again

He laughs and grabs his money as he stumbles out the door way
Too drunk to sense the danger in the air

A knife comes out of nowhere, cutting quick and to the chase
He falls and dies beneath the Devil’s stare