The story
He cinches up the hurt and rides it out alone.
He stands at the edge of the night with boots on and a wound he will not name, turning grief into something that can be mounted and driven down a dirt road. The western dressings are all there—saddle, dust, distance—but the only thing he really carries is the ache, pulled tight like reins until it breaks him open again.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.