Hell, Where Cowboys Are Sometimes Found Coming From

There is a road. This road cuts through a forest and saves us about 10 minutes of travel. This road is always dark, whether it be day, night, dusk, or dawn. I have never seen the sun filter through said forest in the entire 10 years my dad drove me through that neck of the woods. It was the perfect setting for your typical horror movie. Why, then, when asked to think of a song that comes to my mind, do I think of this detour? I had to dig deep for this one. It finally hit me; there was a song. A song that my dad never once forgot to play before every rec football practice or game that my brother had. This song was by Panterra. And this song was titled "Cowboys From Hell".
I was never really a heavy metal fan. I can't sit still and play heavy metal; I feel like I have to have adrenaline coursing through my veins to even begin to enjoy the fast, loud, and dense sound assaulting my ears. I enjoy Metallica, but they sound a bit more harmonic, if that makes sense (listen to Mr. Sandman's chorus and you might understand what I mean). Panterra's "Cowboys From Hell" is anything but harmonic. The start of the song sounds like some kind of gigantic machine grinding its pistons to start to get to work. The song hits you right away with the guitars and the drums. And it doesn't apologize. We were almost obliged to listen to it above a normal volume. Any lower and it would not shake your very being, reverberating through your bones. Any higher, and we would need to get a replacement set of eardrums. Every time I heard this song, I would think to the last time my dad played it. It was a memory that kept building up on the previous experiences until the song became almost sacred to my brother, my dad, and me. It was "our thing"; no one else could touch it. When my dad played it, I felt older, stronger, and pumped for whatever came next. No matter if our football game ended in defeat or our practice ended in thunderstorms, that song would also be welcoming us back to our house, blaring in our ears and reminding us who we were. It seems as though this special ritual somehow did impact our mentality and how we played at practice. I never once remember feeling sad and unmotivated when I rolled up to the rec field with the remnants of that metal ballad still ringing in my ears, emphasis on the ears ringing.
I can't ever forget that special few minutes. It happened every time, without fail. Like clockwork, my dad would happen to turn on the song when we were entering the forest detour only a few minute's drive from our house. I don't remember the name of the road, but that wasn't what mattered. It wasn't the name of the road but what it meant. The drums would beat, the guitars would wail, and the voices would yell. Heavy metal is interesting; it evokes some primal emotion in me. It's almost like you revert to your animal-like state, if only for a brief moment, to feel what it's like to have the adrenaline of the hunt coursing through your veins. Norepinephrine would pound in my ears and the world would fade. All that was left was the Cowboys From Hell, ready to state their arrival. I felt like I was full of power, listening to Vinnie Paul declare his place atop the throne of the world. "You see us coming and you all together run for cover." My dad, my brother and I were ready to take on the world. "We're taking over this town." The headbanging intensifies as we stake our claim; this upcoming victory is ours. We were the Cowboys of Hell.
The past is in the past, and I don't think I could ever return to that feeling I once had, like I was capable of doing everything. But the feeling will be forever sealed in the song. And in that 5 minute drive through that dark forest.