Rincon - Floating Action

Well, it’s the strangling of the scene

The most peculiar of design

The rods and cones just crossed the line

The one that makes the engine run

But as the sun goes down at Rincon

It makes the strangest of design

It’s the scrambling of the signal

That stops the tune of Earnest Ranglin

I’ve reached out to every crook I’ve seen

The lonely life of the wrangler appears to shine

Well, it’s the granite of your fingers

That drinks me underneath the table

It’s the shuffling of the cards

That keeps me running half the time