| In Arizona’s desert lores a legend goes about a horse the champion of a lawless
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| breed the favored one, the Devil’s steed
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| who by some strange chance was free.
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| That albino pink eyed stallion, born to the Devil in a lake of fire
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| Bred with an introvert desire and
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| His eyes at night are ablaze
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| With a burning fire…
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| At night in the canyon all alone I’ve heard the Devil call his own,
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| and it made my blood stream freeze. |
| But pleading for his wayward steed is all
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| in vain, vain indeed, for free he aims to be.
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| You drunks and gamblers laugh at me
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| You sweat for gold and spend it free
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| With eyes too blind to see.
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| You have no hopes, you have no gold, you have no dreams to ease your soul.
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| And yet you laugh at me.
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| That albino pink-eyed stallion. |
| Born to the Devil in a lake of fire
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| Bred with an introvert desire and
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| His eyes at night are ablaze
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| With a burning fire…
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| Without a gold, no man is whole. |
| Without a dream there is no soul and stagnant
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| he will be. |
| I’ll sleep by day, I’ll search by night, I’ll not renounce my fight |
| 'til he belongs to me.
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| That albino pink-eyed stallion. |
| Born to the Devil in a lake of fire
|
| Bred with an introvert desire and
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| His eyes at night are ablaze
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| With a burning fire… |