A skull grins beneath an ‘ol Stetson brim, Flames lick his helmet blue, defying death's whim, With hollow eyes he stares, a cowboy to the bone, Ridin' through eternity.
It ain’t a buckin’ bronco… it’s a steel stallion! With a hydraulic kick and a mean setta horns, this sucker is low, loud, and liable to send your hat flyin’.
Sometimes you plan it, but most nights it just sneaks up on ya. Next thing you know, you’re sitting at a Waffle House at 3am drinkin’ cheap black coffee wonderin’ where the night went. Our best guess? You got a little rowdy, amigo.
We kept going west till we ended up somewhere else entirely. Maybe it was east. Maybe it was a fever dream. All we know is, the sashimi was fresh, the barstools were low, and the neon signs looked mighty familiar.
The road has been long and hard for this ol' cowboy, but he paces onward across the dusty plain. Carved by his own grit and determination, the path leads on...
