The Gunfight
The barrel was long,
Made of cold hard steel.
The bullets of lead,
The pain would be real.
The streets made of dirt,
As the wind blew clouds of dust.
The showdown was at noon,
All for love and lust.
As they took to the street,
The spurs clinking as they walked.
The people looked from the windows,
And neither of them talked.
The one was a tall man,
Trench coat to his boots.
Came from a long line of gunfighters,
Every one knows how he shoots.
Grayness in his hair,
Wrinkles on his hands and face.
But he could still wheel a gun,
And at a very fast pace.
The other a younger fellow,
A little foolish at best.
Only ever killed one man,
Put a bullet in his chest.
A right hander,
Pulled his gun from the left side.
That second to reach across,
Could be the one that skins his hide.
The pistols were pulled,
At the clocks last stroke.
No one knew what happened,
Till the clearing of the smoke.
Love and lust,
And the causes of it all.
They must have been the same,
Because both men would fall.
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