I was sitting up in my attic working on some guitar parts - the acoustics are nicer up there for the old classical guitar I like to write on. The descending riff on the chorus was the part I was stuck to and I began to picture a horse violently prancing to that section, not exactly sure why. I grew up with horses out on my grandparents land outside of Reno, Nevada.

The "Richest Rodeo in the West" is every summer there, and I'd often go watch the bull riding. The bull riders were the rock stars of the rodeo. We'd try and ride pigs in the pen as kids, mimicking them. I recall one year when I was maybe 7 years old, the announcer was bantering back and forth with one of the rodeo clowns in the ring. The joke was along the lines of him having a gambling problem and the mob was keeping an eye on him [the clown]. Obviously that story resonated with me, seeing as twenty years later it comes to mind in a time of writing.

I decided to create this character of the clown who had the mob breathing down his neck and a bull breathing in his face. The choice he might make when he's forced to pick a way out, so to speak, is what drives the tale. There's a quote from Churchill about being ready to meet his maker even if his maker wasn't prepared to do the same. I wondered about the situation and thought to myself, well at least he gets to meet his soul. And that's the lyric. The rest took 8 seconds.