The Outlaw Noble Salt

by Amy Harmon

Do you know my name? Perhaps you should forget it I’m a wanted man

“And I’m an outlaw, but I try not to be a crook.”

Tick tock, damn it all I don’t want to die today Why am I still here?

Churches are just about controlling people with the fear of God.

Sing sweet nightingale Angel voice and broken wings None of us are free

a huge bag of salt in the walkway—the Noble Salt Company, all the way from the Great Salt Lake,

I’m sorry, what was your name again?” “Salt. Noble Salt,” he answered smoothly. It was the name written on the large bag of salt he’d tripped over,

I’ll hold a vigil Until the night surrenders Then I’ll sail away

She thought he was a doctor, a noble salt of a man.

he actually felt noble,

I am a stranger That’s what all the people say No way I can hide

Noble is the man Who gives his life for others Sadly, I’m not he

When roses bloom in The wintry snow then will my Love return to me

You think you know me But you haven’t got a clue I don’t know myself

He’d written his thoughts in the same five-seven-five meter he always used, and it made him laugh.

Take me home again Never thought I’d see the day O waly, waly

Don’t dare look at you Don’t know how to talk to you We’ll just sit awhile

In the Wild West Every man is an outlaw Or he wants to be

Oh to hell you ride And home dissolves behind you A paradise lost

I’ll give you the moon If you give me the morning A world we will make

“Yeah. And you’ve never seen mountains until you’ve seen Utah.”

I am never full There’s a hole in my stomach And one in my chest

I will say I do And mean it from the bottom Of my crooked heart

There is no leaving I travel in a circle Always returning

Tell me you love me Even if it’s not the truth I’ll cherish the lie

Instead of fear, she had the sensation of a deep exhale, a settling in her soul.

Opportunity Dances past and laughs at me Catch me if you can

Where have you been, love? We are almost out of time And I want to dance

All I prayed for came After my darkest hour A son to heal me

You make me believe What my mother used to say Some folks are just ours

Some folks are just ours.”

Time to catch a train The whistle’s getting louder Telling me to run

You opened me up And took my heart from my chest Now how will I live?

Playing for money Will never be the same as Playing for our lives

I can’t hold on to Anything good, and I can’t Let go of the bad

I can stop a train Tie myself across the tracks Just don’t say goodbye

My love is not fine Or made of silver and gold But it’s all I have

I too have felt the Captive void of noble rage Love has set me free

If I look back now I’ll surely turn to salt, Lord Keep my gaze forward

Some say he died young Many claim he grew quite old No one really knows

Live in a way you can hold your head up high, because people will remember you.

The locals told them that the monument at Huaca Huañusca—basically a towering pile of rocks

I modeled Gus after my son, Sam, who was born with the same disfigurement Gus is challenged with.

There really was an attempt at amnesty, and many of the stories—Betty the racehorse, paying off the widow’s mortgage, the Wyoming pardon, and the way Butch treated people and kept his word—are documented.

Sundance was the youngest and Butch the oldest in their families. It says interesting things about their personalities.