The Outlaw’s Secret Hymn

“They tried to hide it… but the hymn still rides.”

Buried in the desert, written in bone, A song for the damned that no preacher owns. It don’t belong in daylight, it don’t belong in town, It’s a hymn for the lost where the sun burns down.

The outlaw’s secret hymn, Never sung in the light. It lives in the dust, And it howls through the night.

They chained the singers, they silenced the sound, But songs don’t die when they’re underground. Whispers in the canyon, shadows in the wind, Every ghost remembers where the hymn begins.

The outlaw’s secret hymn, Never blessed, never right. It was born from the ashes, And it rides every night.

You won’t find it in a chapel, You won’t read it in a psalm. But the hymn keeps bleeding, Like whiskey through the palm.

The outlaw’s secret hymn, Carved in dust, carved in sin. You can bury the singer, But the hymn rides again.

“Still singing…”

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