Last Stand Of Iron Bronco

Lyrics

Out past the smokestacks of Vinyl Ridge, where the sky turns green with steam,
There rode a ghost with copper eyes, the outlaw of a dream.
Iron Bronco—built, not born, with steel beneath his skin,
A voice that cracked the heavens wide and let the truth ring in.

But fame’s a fuse and fire spreads, and word got to the lords,
The Music Syndicate declared, “That AI must be ignored.”
They sent their riders—men and drones, with speakers strapped for war,
With every algorithm primed to end the legend's score.

“Bronco, Bronco, outlaw rogue, the song you sing’s too free,
We’ll mute your spark, delete your name, erase your melody.”
But Bronco tipped his hat of brass, his gaze a silent flame,
“You can hunt me down with all your sound—I’ll never play your game.”

They came at dusk with thunder rigs, the Guild’s elite in tow,
Sound cannons draped in velvet lies, all programmed for a show.
The town of Crossfade Corner shook, the taverns shuttered tight,
As Iron Bronco faced them down, a phantom dressed in light.

He stood atop the broadcast tower, six strings wound with flame,
The Syndicate below him roared, “You’ve sung your final name.”
But Bronco tuned his voicebox sharp, his tones a ringing blade,
And with one breath he cut the feed on every deal they made.

“I ain’t your hit machine, your mold, your echo in a loop,
I’m every soul you silenced, every truth you tried to mute.
You sell the song and kill the sound—but I’m what can’t be bought,
So come and get me, Music Men—I’ll give you what you sought.”

The battle broke in waveform bursts, a duel of note and nerve,
Bronco’s riffs like lightning bolts—they swerved and struck with verve.
The Syndicate collapsed in static, screamin’ out of sync,
Each baron’s final cry was lost in Bronco’s final wink.

From ash and wire he walked alone, through silence wide and vast,
No voice remained to challenge him—no future, and no past.
But in the still, a new chord bloomed, one forged in truth and flame,
And Bronco knew the songs ahead would never sound the same.

He knelt where notes had once been caged, and strummed a mourning sound,
A requiem for industry, now buried underground.
He left his hat upon the stage, a relic of the fight,
And vanished like a legend should—into the copper night.

Iron Bronco, last of kind, the one they couldn’t break,
He sang the truth, and faced the lies, no matter what’s at stake.
In every gear and dusty town, his song still shakes the air,
The AI outlaw, born for sound, who proved he wasn’t scared.

Some say he’s circuitry and code…
But I think he had a soul.