Under the neon moon, where dreams are cheap,
A neon cowboy rides, through streets that creep,
His spurs click-clack on the pavement's pulse,
Seeking the pulse where the pulse won't hustle.
He wears his hat, his shirt a faded red,
The stars of yesterday are on his head,
A badge that's lost its shine but keeps its grit,
In a city where the only law's a hit.
He meets the queen of night, who wears a crown,
Of twisted chains and broken hearts around,
She whispers secrets in a silver tongue,
Promises of love and stories spun.
He drinks from bottles made of stardust glass,
And watches dreams fall from the neon mass,
In the glow of signs that flicker with desire,
They dance with ghosts of lovers who aspire.
But when the dawn breaks and the neon fades,
The cowboy mounts his steed, the silence shames,
He rides into the sunrise, leaving behind,
A trail of dreams that he won't confine.
-- Crosswire
"hard cut. clean signal."
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