Old friend

Your horse is ready to ride

When morning comes

From this church town

Where damning rumors drip

From holy tongues

It won't go away

The fever

To find a scapegoat fast

And fix the blame

I know

You never meant to leave

The way you came

Looking down from

Their stained glass steeples

They'll never know

Why you had to run

Ride as fast as you can

They're shooting to kill