Bill Horton was a cautious man of the road. He walked lookin' over his shoulder and remained faithful to its code. When something caught his eye he'd measure his need. And then very carefully he'd proceed. Billy met a young girl in the early days of May. It was there in her arms he let his cautiousness slip away. In their lovers twilight as the evening sky grew dim. He'd lay back in her arms and laugh what had happened to him. On his right hand Billy tattooed the word love and on his left hand was the word fear. And in which hand he held his fate was never clear. Come Indian summer he took his young lover for his bride. And with own hands built a great house down by the riverside. Now Billy was an honest man he wanted to do what was right. He worked hard to fill their lives with happy days and loving nights. Alone on his knees in the darkness for steadiness he'd pray. For he knew in a restless heart the seed of betrayal lay. One night Billy awoke from a terrible dream callin' his wife's name. She lay breathing beside him in a peaceful sleep a thousand miles away. He got dressed in the moonlight and down to the highway he strode. When he got there he didn't find nothing but road. Billy felt a coldness rise up inside him that he couldn't name. Just as the words tattooed 'cross his knuckles he knew would always remain. At their bedside he brushed the hair from his wife's face as the moon shone on her skin so white. Filling their room with the beauty of God's fallen light.