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I was headed west through El Paso
I had broke down by the side of the road
Guitar, a smoking car, and an empty bottle
The sun was sinking through the blowing dust
A truck passed by, then backed up
She said, “tough luck, do you want a ride?”


Searching for El Dorado
The days were hot, the desert nights were cold
A modern day Coronado
Looking for cities made of gold

She held the gun while I watched the door
The bank teller laid on the floor
We cleaned out the cash from
seven highway towns
Midnight driving with the devil’s moon
We drank champagne in our hotel room
Making stacks of money,
then we’d knock em down


I woke up in the morning, she was gone
I heard the breaking news, she left the TV on
No description of her,
but I saw my face on the screen
She took the money and she’s on the run
She left the truck and the stolen gun
I remembered her words:
“tough luck, do you want a ride”


She’s still looking for cities made of gold