An old american Indian Legend,,,

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Straight from my fertile imagination!

In the hills where all the old men have gone to die, You can hear their words cry on the winds that they ride. I can hear the hoofbeats of a horse never tamed. Guarding all the elders, it's the bloody mustang.

Several times I've watched him run thru the hills. Dripping blood so red it filled me with chills. See the blood it runs all over the land, and it drips from the hand of the whire man.

He's a beast or so the old men say. Devil horse who paints the hills all in red. Hoofbeats moving faster than thunder. Braves listen and silently wonder.

Any brave who'd like to take the chance, He can hear the wise cry like the wind with advice. He can hear the tales of all the braves who have failed. Make a choice, will he watch, or will he ride!