my little john, john, he's long gone. Gone to Indiana and he's never coming home. I was taken to the back door. Bare legs, summer skin and feather necklace, I spotted my objection and tamed my moving limbs. Knee bones knock together in organized scare, feathers feel soft against skin. Chasing the reasons and my soul, i feel your revolver against my hips. Cold wind, embrace me whole. I can run circles around you so fast your head will spin, hands at sides and out of pockets, waiting. I am a flower sender, dreamer, waiting for you to come racing into the backdoor of our western playground. Hands and fingers will dance again, you have reason to hope.
But, honey, i'm coming up strong, getting what i deserve in this star crossed river.