Ballad Of The Ghost Buffalo Run
They run in the darkest of nights
When thunderclouds rattle the sky
With quakes that could bring down the heights
To graves where the angry ghosts cry.
From over the Willow Rounds on
A curve of the Marias they come,
With hooves of bright red like the dawn
That beat on the Devil's own drums.
Their bodies are storm clouds that flash
Green lightning, their eyes are all fire
That sparks as the raging herds crash
Along in a terrible ire.
In January back in 1870
The buffalo ghosts first began
Their run like the flight of a Valkyrie
Who hunts down the soul of a dead man.
Whomever will gaze on their run
Is doomed, so it's said, for the grave.
He's dragged by the ghost when their done
That night to an underground cave.
The preachers and men of the church
Once gathered for prayer and revival
But they were all left in the lurch
Of helplessness after their battle.
Some wonder the reason they came,
Some even ask, 'Could it be vengeance
We brought on ourselves by the shame
Of something there on the Marias?'
Who knows, but the ones who can tell
Don't speak as they rip through the sky
And ride with the fury of Hell
From out where the angry ghosts cry.
-© Copyright Santiago del Dardano Turann