'Twas a hold called Red's Saloon
In La Vaca Town;
'Twas an old piano there,
Blistered, marred and brown,
And a man more battered still,
Takin' drinks for fees,
Played all night from memory
On the yellow keys.
While the glasses clinked and clashed
On the sloppy bar,
The piano's dreamy voice
Took you out and far,
Ridin' old, forgotten trails
Underneath the moon,
Till you heard a drunken yell
Back in Red's Saloon.
Whirr of wheel and slap of cards,
Talk of loss and gain,
Mixed with hum of honey bees
Down a sunny lane.
Glimpses of your mother's face,
Touch of girlish lips
Often made you lose your count
As you stacked your chips.
Scufflin' feet and thud of fists,
Curses hot as fire—
Still the music sang of love,
Longin', lost desire,
Dreams that never could have been,
Joys that couldn't stay—
While the man upon the floor
Wiped the blood away.
Then, some way, it followed you,
Slept upon your breast,
Trailed you out across the range,
Never let you rest;
And for days and days you'd hum
Just one scrap of tune—
Funny place for music, though
Back in Red's Saloon!