April 19, 1769

She dangled in the breeze,
like chimes in the wind.
Her hands were at her side,
her lips as red as the blood she'd shed.

With every breath till my last,
will I curse the tree that took her life.
Oh, sweet love of mine,
how could you do this to me?

I thought we had a life together.
I thought we could be free.
I thought I knew who you were.
Why didn't you tell me?

Was your hatred so great,
we couldn't work this through?
Would you have been willing to put it all behind
and say "I do"?

These are things I will never know,
though I will ponder for some time.
Never again will a pretty girl's smile melt my heart,
for I had given you everything I had.

Now here I stand with nothing worth living for,
but my old grey mare.
Come back from the grave, sweet Mary,
and tell me that you loved me.

I'll saddle my grey mare and pack my gun,
then ride away towards the setting sun.
There ain't nothing left for me here,
but I'll find solace in the solitude of open country.

No one to talk to,
no one to argue with.
No one to tell me what to do...
No one to love.

I'll ride west till my mare drops dead,
and then I'll walk.
I'll walk and walk till the dust consumes me,
and we meet again.