Every night without a light or brightly shining low
Silver trees and darkened leaves blot the sky above
As the yellow moon to the darkest night, it turns to raging fire
The road it bends and the darkness spins to voices in the choir

I dream of horses and their kin against a lovely night
I dream of sand and sky and sin against the pale moonlight
Everyone that feels at all has got something to say
About the wayward southern ways of every wild day