Butt No Rifle

It is the capital, it is the refusal

It is the realism that I'm referred to

I eloped when shit got real

To a castle on a hill

With a spur hung off my heel, but no rifle

I am kindly as a bit

On the saddle where I sit

With a stetson, perfect fit, but no rifle

I can show you to the killer

But I ain't got the instinct

I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle

There is memory forgetting

And intention, that is it

I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle

A time, where does it go to?

Kills the things it grows to

Laughs at what we go through

I submit to love

Yield to understanding

Be a flock of doves

There is no reprimanding

When submitting to love

I eloped when shit got real

To a castle on a hill

With a spur hung off my heel, but no rifle

There is memory forgetting

And intention, that is it

I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle

Yield to understanding

Be a flock of doves

There is no reprimanding

When submitting to love

Surrender to your instinct

Surrender to your gut

There is no understanding

I submit to love