the gun fighter
wind blows across the hot dessert landscape,sand stirs on the street of the little western town.
dust and tumble weeds move where the wind takes,
and a scorpion scurries across the ground.
a lone, dark figure emerges from the double saloon doors,
and steps calmly into the street.
above him high in the air a hawk soars,
as he prepares for the man he is to meet.
dressed in black but for the silver shine of his spurs and gun,
his spurs jingle as he walks to the middle of the street,
he is a gun fighter,known to every one,
it is said hes the deadliest man on two feet.
he has been called out by a youngster trying to make a name,
he's used to this it happens in every town.
their always trying to kill him for fame,
and as always he has had to shoot them down.
a young man no more than twenty,walks to the middle of the road,
he spins the chamber of his pistol to make sure it has a full load.
the kid holsters his gun and says with a grin,
"its your time to die old man,you'll see your grave today my friend!"
the gun fighter never says a word, and moves his long frock coat to the side.
his hand by his six-gun, he prepares to draw.
he tips his hat and looks the kid in the eye,
he hates to kill one so young,and watch them fall.
the kid gets cocky and once again speaks out loud,
"this is the end for you,I'm the fastest gun in town!"
he makes his boasts in front of the side-street crowd,
"it's over for you today,I'm gonna gun you down!"
the gun fighter still and calm says to the boy,
"let me know when done running your mouth,i'm hot out in this sun,
and this pistol is no toy,
there's killing to be done."
the boy hears this and loses his smirk,
he puts his hand by his pistol on his side.
he grabs for his gun and draws with a jerk,
just as a bullet pierces his skull,between his eyes.
the old gun fighter looks at his barrel and blows off the smoke,
he holsters the six-gun walks to the dead boy in the street.
"when its time for killing,there's no time to joke,
that's why I'm standing and your dead on your feet.
he walks away to mount his horse and ride,
he swings his leg over the saddle and grabs the reigns,
a pitiful shame,such a young man died,
all because he was looking to make a name.
stares from the townsfolk as he rode out of town,
calm and collected, he journeyed away,
some men drug the boy from the blood stained ground.
another notch on his gun, another needless death this day.
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