A Traditional Gunfighter Ballad David Wilkenfeld: Vocal, Guitars Sandro Bassani: Engineer, Bass
wilkie david wilkenfeld
Story behind the song
In 1980 I was a young punk working in an CA firm and the managing partner was this legendary tyrannical figure, feared by even the most hardy of accountants. Rango was just my way of portraying him.
I had always intended on replacing the name "Rango", because, if you recall, there was a TV show in the '70's starring Tim Conway as a bumbling sherrif named Rango. I feared that the masses listening to my song would fail to take it seriously if I retained the name. Years and years later, I related this story to my kids, and after listening intently, Victor remarked, "who were you worried about? We're the only ones who've ever heard the damn song". Thanks to Vic for shattering my fantasy world.
Lyrics
The wicked sun was piercing through
A shield of desert sand upon his face
As he came riding through the wind
His skin was burning fire red, and hard
But his eyes were icy shadows
Of a hungry soul
Emptiness inside of him
And, as he walked in through the door
Laughter died and faces turned away
Silent whispers filled the emptiness
Telling of an evil man
Known by all throughout the land as
Rango, Rango
What you gonna to do
Before you leave this town
I’ve seen many men and children cry
Don’t know what’s inside of you
But I see evil in your eyes, Rango
Everyone had heard about
The wicked deeds of Rango
Without reason he had killed so many men
Was it just revenge, or was it hate
Or was it madness
No one seemed to want or care to know
Still the fear just seemed to grow
On and on, the legend of this man
Raced across the fiery desert sand
Looking round the room he seemed to be
Waiting for another one
The next man who would pull a gun on
It took less than a moment
Rango heard his name and spun around
A shot rang out before his eyes could see
It seemed that he was just a boy
No one could really understand
Too young to kill, too young to try
Now they said “too young to die”
Rango walked back through the room
His eyes were white
His gun tight in his hands
As he hit the ground
He seemed to be
Less a legend than a man
Empty heart and bloody hands