Ghost Town
Ghost town
High in the Mountains, between lost and lonely,
Lay dreams and memories untold,
And the bones of men with the weathered tombstones,
They’re the miners that came looking for gold.
Abandoned and broken, they withered away,
With no one there left to care,
The mines and the dance halls, all closed long ago,
Leaving only the stories they shared,
The wind on Boot-hill, blows weary and cold,
And what’s left of a thriving small town,
Now rests in the secrets of long, long ago,
As the buildings keep tumbling down,
Yet many a man made a fortune up here,
Those that were lucky got out with their wealth,
So many passed with out leaving a sign,
The unlucky played the hand they were dealt,
The ladies of pleasure were treated,
Like queens of the night, so it’s said,
The thieves would swindle and steal you blind,
Or knife you and leave you for dead,
Some are remembered; many more are forgotten,
Most died tired and poor,
But the ghosts that haunt what’s left of this town,
Chase shadows across old wooden floors.
High in the mountains, between lost and lonely,
Lay dreams and memories untold,
And the bones of men with the withered tombstones,
Were the miners that came looking for Gold.
© Copyright 2009 Wm. Tracey Bakelar - All Rights Reserved
By Tracey
© 2009 Tracey
(All rights reserved)
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