He crossed the valley of bones on a horse with no name
Turned faces to sadness and hands to dry leather for fame
Sought fortune or glory to die whether lost or fulfilled
Playing Sweet Caroline to the twilit sigh of the wind
An old man quivers by the blended colors of his frosty fears
The cold west wind brought in fog from his lake of tears
Once more, the tone of blue and white weaves worry in his eyes
- had seen many years -
And the salty rain, by light, leaves flurries in the coming dawn