Devil's Moon from Farmless by The Harkenbacks

Ride my bike down rural roads
1000 miles from here
Sleep 'neath the trees don't bother me
Until the coast is clear

To hell you ride, to hell you ride
never make it home
You got to walk those crooked miles alone

Drank from a river of flowin' gin
Slept on a bed of clouds
Woke up alone in a hero's tomb
Singing reveille out loud

To hell you ride, to hell you ride
never make it home
You got to walk those crooked miles alone

so stitch your bags with Wilmington rags
pack them with sliver doubloons
Tonight we ride beneath the devil moon

High on a hill I rest my head
Wilderness surrounds
If it wasn't for the need to gas my tank
I wouldn't pass thru your town

so stitch your bags with Wilmington rags
pack them with sliver doubloons
Tonight we ride beneath the devil moon

under the dirt I heard the worm,
Softly she whispers dear:
When you're done with that mean old sun
won't ya come down and join us here.

To hell you ride, to hell you ride
never make it home
You got to walk those crooked miles alone

To hell you ride, to hell you ride
never make it home
You got to walk those
crooked miles
alone

• Country
• Folk
• bluegrass
• old-time string band
• stringband
• California