Beneath the burn of a blood-red sky,
The prairie whispers, the coyotes cry.
The tumbleweeds roll, the air grows tight,
Trouble stirs at the edge of the night.

The sun dips low, a fiery blaze,
Casting shadows through the dusky haze.
A lone rider stands with a steel-eyed stare,
Facing the horizon with a rebel’s dare.

Bootheels clink on the desert floor,
The rustle of dust, the creak of a door.
The saloon hum quiets, the cards now still,
As whispers speak of a brewing thrill.

Beyond the ridge, where the mountains loom,
A tempest brews, a frontier’s doom.
But the grit of the West won’t bow or flee,
For the spirit of courage rides wild and free.