Set in time horse and buggy. Men traveled anyway they could, sometimes a navigation thru the stars. Work was hard to find, rolling hills and farm land. A drifter some may say, a face with no name. Excuse me sir I a man looking for work? The farmer says I just might have something? Where about are you from I might ask? I’m a Just passing thru on my way north. With a familiar smile come back tomorrow says the farmer. Alright than, thank you kindly, will do!
The drifter turns around, walks down another lonely road. He is content on the life of wonder and travel. Town to town without ever really being notice. To the unknowing is what he is leaving behind. Ghostly shadows of abandonment, chalk board nails. Tree limbs brushes the window. Cat chasing mice squeal in the night. Campfire tales of the man who walks alone.
The farm and farmer are familiar to him, the drifter. This town, this man, and his farm. Cast violence of four fathers, wind carries screams. Man hangs from a tree at sunsets, if you look just close enough. Only seen by the drifter, night terrors. Drifter questions himself with a familiar voice. This man the farmer with his familiar smile. He is alone, all alone, stair case creeks. The faces of four fathers wrapped in gauze. The drifter carries scales of judgment! The reckoning is upon us, voices heard from the past!