Tumbleweeds roll down dusty streets,
an’ doors are shuttered tight—
the wind howls ‘round the old ghost town
where the past assembles at night.
Only the brave let the sun go down,
to linger ‘mid shadows that fall—
as stories are told—folks pretend to be bold,
tho’ they shudder as coyotes call.
But listen close outside the saloon
an’ you’ll hear a rickety tune
as dancehall girls swing an’ twirl,
an’ gamblers bid to the moon.
Down the street a way—from your corner eye,
a curtain flutters an’ sways—
tho’ the window is broke, it’ll make you choke
in fear of unsettled days.
There’s a lonely stray dog meandering
as you hide in shadowy places—
his ears start to perk as he turns with a jerk,
an’ barks at pale ghostly faces.
If you pause a while in dark alleys,
pressed close to buildings of old,
you’ll hear sidewalks creek ‘neath invisible feet—
it’s the truth…or so I am told.
Gunslingers will pass as you tarry,
walkin’ tall with a buddy or two—
if you listen close, you’ll hear them boast,
of the many men they outdrew.
Then, thundering hooves overtake you—
the ground starts to shudder an’ shake,
an’ a cowboy’s yell—like a voice from hell,
makes your spirit tremble an’ quake.
Roundups end in this ghostly town
with wranglers plum’ dirty an’ dry—
they’ve finished their ride behind those cowhides,
now a bath an’ whiskey they’ll try.
Merriment, you may now witness
as tho’ seeing thru’ old looking glass,
as cowboys whoop—dusty hats they swoop
bowing low to ladies they pass.
You’ll not be ignored forever
as a viewer from this other side—
ghosts see you too—with feet stuck like glue,
an’ t’ward you they soon will glide.
You’ll feel only woe in these dwellings—
to escape your fate, you’ll run fast,
for you know they thrive—an’ remain alive,
those ghost towns of centuries past.
Ghost Town written by Tamara © 2007