
A western story. Have a listen here.
Stacey Grey a gypsy moth
Flying close to a flame
She said I’m going to where I have to go
The desert calls my name
With her horse and old dog, Ringo
She went to tame her land
She merged like a chameleon
Into the colours of Texas sand
–
It was a state and half away
Three hundred acres and a shack
I went to see her once
She said she won’t be coming back
–
CH
Stacey Grey never wanted better things
She never ever flew but she had wings
She lived free she had style
And I just can’t forget her.
Though it’s been a while
–
I found a message on my phone
It chilled me to the bone
Stacey whispered low and fast
She wasn’t home alone
Three guys, in an old black truck
Had arrived real late that day
They looked like hungry predators
And she was feeling like their prey
–
I drove a straight Iine down to Stacey’s
A clean horizon with no life
‘Cept an old black pick-up truck
That went past on ‘55
–
I found her door still open
A stabbing pain went through my head
I found her battered body
Ringo whimpered in a shed
It’s an age old story
‘Bout bad that comes at night
but I found a ripped off earlobe
She hadn’t given up without a fight
–
On the road to vengeance
Fifty six miles of gravel
My beat-up dusty Ford
could take on the very devil
In a truck stop in Oklahoma
Pouring stories over beer
I found the three black-truck boys
And one had a severed ear
–
In tales and all old westerns
The hero always beats the rest
Though life just ain’t a story
And I’m a small guy at best
But I had a shotgun in my hand
And Ringo knew the score
We kept our eyes upon those guys
And beckoned them to the door
–
She loved being a rancher
Lived a full life everyday
But them trucking boys had taken that
There was nothing more to say
I stood still with Ringo
The old dog licked my hand
We buried my cowgirl sister
By an old tree on her land.
–
In the dusty hills, half a state away
Some boys had hit bad luck
The cops had found three bodies
in a burnt-out old black truck.
–
Copyright: Rod de Lisle
