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Awhile back, one of y'all submitted this photo of an unknown horseman in El Paso, six shooter at his side. On the same day, another of y'all sent me a photo of a group of unknown men in a bar somewhere. I'd been meaning to write a toast for all of the people in all of the photographs whose names have been lost to history. This is that toast:

Here's to the unknown horseman
And the ghostly horse he rides
across bethirsted prairies
his pistols by his sides,
and to the moon and the summer monsoon
in West Texas where his spirit abides
Here's to the unknown horseman
and the spectral horse he rides.

Here's to the man in the shadows
Whose face we can't make out.
There you are, in the back by the bar
It's you, there is no doubt.
But your name is lost to history
Of your life we know nothing about
So I toast to you, the man in the back
Whose face we can't make out.

Here's to every man forgotten,
His friends and his lovers, too.
And dreams and sorrows and memories
Of when his love was new.
And of his best horse running
Across the prairie dew
Here's to every man forgotten,
His friends and his lovers, too.

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