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“I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes,

When it wants to tell about something on its mind,

And can’t make itself understood,

And so can’t rest easy in its grave,

And has to go about that way every night grieving.”

Mark Twain

It was a real hot night

Outside of old Tucson

When he came a callin

On his big black stallion

I was fast asleep in my tent

When the wind began to stir

So I dragged myself outside

And on the hill I saw this blur

Then I heard an ancient chant

It sounded so powerfully sad

I couldn’t understand a word

Now I thought I was goin mad

Then I thought that I was dreamin

So I slowly rubbed my weary eyes

But when I looked out there again

He was still up there to my surprise

Soon I heard those massive hooves

They were now thunderin my way

I just stood there, unable to move

It’s still so vivid in my mind today

There was just somethin in his eyes

Black and hollow and filled with pain

And the feelin that I had as he rode up

Is probably somethin I can never explain

That huge black stallion was breathin hot fire

His rifle what a deadly message it could send

I closed my eyes and said a real hasty prayer

Thinkin that this was surely gonna be my end

As this haunted rider and his eerie black horse

Raced by me, I felt a strange sensation in the air

As I turned and watched them head into the desert

About all I could do was stand out there, and stare

Each and every time I dream about this old night rider

Back to that desert outside of Tucson, I now wanna go

And since that very eerie experience, I often think about

The night I’m fairly sure, I met the ghost of old Geronimo

†2007, Mr. Ed