And one year later here I am,
Still dreaming of nights in Haverstock St.
When I would ride up on my dream horse
(Of all the pretty horses there is none so loyal nor fleet).
Braving bandits and rustlers – you would come out to meet me.
Then, sipping from bottles of moonshine,
You sang soft words, and I would weave you stories.
Anything to make you laugh and smile.