Of long nights at the saddleout on the road.The puff from the dust, as you roll out of your own bed.The texture of this ironas a break on your hand, Fast from the leather, in your slightest control!Sounds in the nighttime, lifting the hair on your throat, Moon shines in the space, a faraway speck.A faggot on the coals, generates the smallest spark, Exposing shadows with guarantee, to stave off the shadowy.You say words into your pony, merely to hear somebody speak!The light of this afternoon, br...