High on a horse,

guns at his hips,

a prayer in his mind,

and a song on his lips.

The birds must bow

as he passes by

and the clouds must part

to give him the sky.

Bullets pierce

the clear, still air

and strike my father,

my prince dark and fair.

He falls on the road

off his great horse of white.

Our love burned for him

but our world turned to night.