The dusty road seems forever.
Men, women, children take their leave.
Shops lock, stocks lock, guns shake.
One man’s nervous hand
Steps out to make his stand.
The barkeep shakes his head.
The barber thinks him dead.
The whore pleads for his life.
Everyone turns away, even his wife.
The escaped killers ride.
The sun falls on their back.
A red sun.
The fires of hell are overdue.
The man hears time as it passes.
The man hears time as it passes.
He listens to everything he loved.
With the snap of a Schofield
Bullets fall into six steel coffins.
The gun cocks and he feels his wife’s lips.
He can smell the whore’s perfume.
He can taste the barkeep’s whiskey.
He feels the barber’s razor
.The fires of hell roll in.
He stands alone
Face to face with hell.
He cracks an uncanny smile.
Four horsemen drunk with power break leather.
The man skins his smoke wagon.
Smoke and fire explode in the streets.
The killers sober at the rip of the bullets.
“Damn he’s fast” screams a wounded man.
Six dead ears hear nothing.
The lone man.
The lone man.
The deputy.
Stands above the wounded man.
Mercy, begs the coward.
Schofields snap back into leather.
He was fast
Bullets were faster.
The man falls.
Five dead men lay in the street.
Five dead men lay in the street.
A widow curses.
A whore cries.
He stood where no one else would.
A man has to do what a man has to do.
In the face of hell’s fire.
He didn’t flee.
What’s that say about me?
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