We lined ‘em up at sundown Old trucks Quiet guns Tired eyes Just a simple midnight run Across a fence of borrowed lines They joked about the coffee Said they'd be back before first light Left their boots by the bunkhouse door Like they'd walk in at sunrise But the bunkhouse beds are empty Cups still stained on the window sill Their jackets on the nail by the doorway Names carved deep in the ledger still I can hire all the hard men in the valley Fill these hangars with strangers-for-hire But I can’t find the ones who never signed papers The ones who vanished in that wire Now I’m paging cold-born engineers Talking specs Talking rates Talking time They see numbers They see airframes I see faces in a dotted line They ask me ‘bout the mission I just circle where the map runs pale Where the trail goes thin and the dust goes quiet Where every compass fails ‘Cause the bunkhouse beds are empty Cups still stained on the window sill Their jackets on the nail by the doorway Names carved deep in the ledger still I can stack up contracts Mercs in the briefing New call signs on the radio wire But I can’t raise the crew that left at midnight And never stepped out of that fire We keep their plates in the cupboard We keep their pay in a separate drawer Their laughter stuck in the rafters Like it might fall through the floor Tell me What’s an army of hired guns When the ones you loved don't come back home? Every new badge on the hangar wall Just underlines who’s gone So the bunkhouse beds stay empty Dust rings where their duffels sat Their hats waiting on the same old pegs Like they might still reach for them back I can staff these hybrid Hard steel cathedrals With every tough soul money can buy But I’m still calling for a midnight run That never answers Never replies
