Butt No Rifle

It is the capital,

It is the refusal,

It is the realism,

That I’m referred to.

I eloped when shit got real

To a castle on a hill

With a spur hung off my heel, but no rifle.

I am kindly as a bit,

On the saddle where I sit,

With a stetson, perfect fit, but no rifle.

I can show you to the killer,

But I ain’t got the instinct,

I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle.

There is memory, forgetting,

And intention, that is it.

I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle.

Time, where does it go to?

Kills the things it grows to,

Laughs at what we go through,

I submit to love.

Yield to understanding,

Be a flock of doves,

There is no reprimanding,

When submitting to love.

I eloped when shit got real

To a castle on a hill

With a spur hung off my heel, but no rifle.

There is memory, forgetting,

And intention, that is it.

I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle.

Yield to understanding,

Be a flock of doves,

There is no reprimanding,

When submitting to love.

Surrender to your instinct,

Surrender to your gut,

There is no understanding.

I submit to love.