Across the plain flew the lone grey rider. Leather bang pounding on his back. Above the clouds the moon was climbing higher. A pack of wolves wanted their money back. With folded arms the chief stood watching. Painted braves slipped down the hill. In his ears the spirit talking. As they closed in. For an easy kill. At the house the door was wide open. Wind blew curtains off the rod. She was waiting and hoping. She was praying to her god. He was luckier than most men. He was barely in his prime. As she stood their in the doorway. Her long dress flowing. Would he make it this time. . Over the hill in the big green country. That's the place where the cancer cowboy rides. Pure as the driven snow before it got him. Sometimes I feel like he's all right. Sometimes I feel like a piece of paper. Sometimes I feel like my own name. Sometimes I feel different later. Sometimes I feel. I feel just the same.