Standing strong from dusk ‘til dawn
Staggered home as the streetlights turned off
Drinking Southern Comfort under the Northern Lights
Infiltrating higher institutions with our gutter lives
Stoic white eagle, majestic silver wolf
My guardian spirits keeping me safer with every pull
Let’s drink to our good fortunes, let’s toast to our success
The freight train is coming and you’re bound to its tracks
The trees stand resolute
Yet mountains shift in the breeze
A greater sense of purpose
Used to resonate through me
Reclaiming the frontier
Our resolves fuel the revolution
This vice is no longer the problem
It’s becoming our solution
These can’t be the Deadlands
'Cause we feel so alive
Nowhere left to go
When there’s nowhere left to hide
We were greenhorns, newly christened pioneers
Inundating unfounded boundaries they domineered
Masked marauders are sweeping the highlands
Blazing aimlessly across the golden shifting sands
Smoldering tumbleweeds disintegrate by the water's edge
Can't resuscitate submerged ambitions from the riverbed
But we dreamt of this moment oh so long ago
This town is finally ours and we’re never going home
The trees stand resolute
Yet mountains shift in the breeze
A greater sense of purpose
Used to resonate through me
Reclaiming the frontier
Our resolves fuel the revolution
This vice is no longer the problem
It’s becoming our solution
These can’t be the Deadlands
'Cause we feel so alive
Nowhere left to go
When there’s nowhere left to hide
This can't be the Promised Land
It was built on lies
There's nothing left to lose
When you've never even tried
Going through the perpetual motions
Can nothing stop this now?
Swimming in concentric circles
Even though we know it's worthless how
We drank to our good fortunes, we toasted to our success
The freight train came and went; still left you scattered on its tracks
In saloons, scoping double-barrels equipped with pump action
We emptied every single one of them like they were our future caskets
Scorched lungs collapsed from constant smoke inhalation
Compounded with wilted eyes from sensory depravation
Started romanticizing the idea of leaving it all behind
Outlaws prepare to settle-in for the endless, empty grind
Smoking six-shooters: spent, holstered at our sides
Set sights on the prosperous new horizon as we saddle up and ride
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