Print the legend!

Six shooter, callous fucker

robbed another saloon with a grin

and one holy bullet

His visage was known all around, it was often spoken

‘…already trembling at his silhouetted boots of spanish leather

about to fuck our settlement over to hades-hell and back again.

Embroidered chaos at six foot seven weighs as much as a pick up truck,

all muscle, mystique

the charm of powerful luck’

With his one bullet remaining in his stolen silver shooter

he rode off across the night’s sky, ready to dine on a haven of bourbon, splendour and honky tonk whores…

Across the tumbleweeds and cactus separating images of time and memory

his trained ear caught the sound

of another near

but to turn around

was to see

no one surrounding he

but the suspect mystery of a vagabond unfound…

Revelling in the idea of his fragmented stories of the making…

‘To hear the clank of pre-prohibition booze dangle from his belt

was to say goodnight, unable to think twice

dropped to the floor by the devils device’

Then I always jaunt my stetson to the angle of righteousness…