Join Date: Dec 2007
Device: Hanlin V3
The Gunslinger (I)
He came from the west with a cloud at his feet,
Like death on a pale horse as white as a sheet,
He stepped off the beast and down into the street,
And walked up from the south side of town.
His gunslinger’s hat had a wide, blackened brim,
He wore a black vest cut with red leather trim,
He stood long and tall, he was handsome and slim,
And his dead blue eyes scanned all around.
He wore the blank visage of one who’d been hurt,
His dusty coat draped from his neck to the dirt,
Some mended up bullet holes criss-crossed his shirt,
And a cigarette hung from his lips.
His icy cold aura could almost be felt,
Hell’s fires would go out before it would melt,
Cartridges filled up the loops on his belt,
And the big guns hung high on his hips.
He hit the saloon; they knew something was wrong,
The jangling music box died in mid song,
Surprised by this stranger who didn’t belong,
Stood in front of him twenty and four.
The barroom was rank with tobacco and liquor,
They’d seen many draw, but none had been quicker,
Out came the guns from the tan dusty slicker,
As he stood with his back to the door.
Just blood covered walls, where once there were men,
He emptied the guns and reloaded again,
Now twenty, now sixteen, now thirteen, now ten,
Like the angel of death he reached out.
Amidst all the dying, the screaming in pain,
The barroom was dripping with blood and with brains,
And every man touched was another man slain,
In the chorus of gunshots and shouts.
He stepped from the barroom and holstered his guns,
And as he rode off, with his back to the sun,
He urged the pale horse to a three-quarters run;
To the burning hot desert he stole.
And not that it mattered how far he would ride,
And not that he cared how many had died,
For nothing could fill the great hole inside;
Or repair the great tear in his soul.
He’d come from a city, far off to the west,
He’d once had a tin star pinned up on his vest,
As some legends go, he was one of the best
They say nobody knew how he fell,
He’ll ride in and slaughter, then to the next place,
With ice in his veins and a mask for a face,
He’ll kill, he’ll destroy, and he’ll try to outrace
The devil himself into hell.