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
