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Curse of Los Lunas

from Curse of Los Lunas by Bart Moore

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about

To the dead aboriginal American West, shamans and shape shifters, pioneer settlers roasted on the plains, from Comancheria to the Mojave

lyrics

The stranger rode at dawn, the sun was a yellow rose
Amarillo, Tucumcari, Santa Rose
In the land of Comanche blood & tears
About where highway 40 would be built in 80 years

The stranger rode until he saw the lights of town
Felt that searing pain as the sun was going down
The sky was lighted by a crystal evening moon
He knew he’d never make Los Lunas, and the change was coming soon

Los Lunas barroom south of Albuquerque town
Chato shook the bones and threw them on the ground
Stared wide-eyed at the pattern that they made
And he said to Mary Ellen “Something evil comes this way”

Mary Ellen laughed, tied back her yellow hair
Strapped her holster on, made clear she didn’t care
Spun the chambers of her Colt revolver gun
With Chato’s eyes upon her, drunk and crazy from the sun

A cougar sprang and knocked the stranger to the grass
He hit the ground a mile from Comanche Pass
He filled the canyon with that mountain lion scream
In the wild Indian country, in the middle of a devil’s dream

Mary Ellen pricked her ears and smelled the night
That’s no coyote howl, it didn’t sound quite right
The August moon lit her trail bright as day
With the lights of Las Lunas dying 20 miles away

Thru the moonlit night she saw Comanche pass
Saw the mountain lion that was dying in the grass
Her yellow hair was wet, the moon was in her eyes
But she saw the thing above her, standing on a ten-foot rise

“I know your name”, she said, and pulled her .45
"You ain’t no legend, I can see you are alive.”
Thunder of a six-gun rang out like a mission chime
And the church bells of Las Lunas rang out half a dozen times

credits

from Curse of Los Lunas, released November 11, 2018
Vocals & Instruments: Bart Moore

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Bart Moore Grand Ledge, Michigan

Bart Moore weds native influences of the Pogues, Tom Waits &Basement Tapes-era Dylan to a headfull of images singularly his own.

"No one writes like Moore: setting scenes using peculiar lyrical details, tying slipknots in the human timeline; history intertwines with the present, bringing death to life. All that comes into play on Graveyards, Wind, & War." ___ Kevin Curtin, Austin Chronicle ... more

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